Conversation with an Angel

A bit of prose/poetry from an older sort.

I spoke with Death today.
I speak with him at odd times.
Well, he is around at odd times,
Such as those times are,
And sometimes we have
Conversations
Of sorts.

I have lived seventy-five years.
My father lived seventy-nine years
And a little more and
He met Death
Without knowing him.
And my father’s father who carelessly
Played poker with Death and
Went away with him in
Nineteen-ten.
Shot.
Dead.

Seventy-five years.
I’m impressed.
Four years to go and
I will have outlived my
Father who struggled
Toward his end with
A bad heart.

I’ve asked Death if I have a
Bad heart but have never
Gotten an answer on that
Score.

Four more years and maybe
More; we will see.