Death, That Bitch

“OK, drop your pants.”

Within ten seconds
of meeting him
my trousers had hit the floor
right along with my pride

“Sorry it has to start like this doc,” I said.

I laughed uncomfortably

He looked at me
as if I were three years old

Two days earlier
I’d discovered an
enormous, discolored, raging mole
on my body

Spent the time since
planning out my last days
on earth

Tearful phone calls
brave emails
where’s the life insurance policy?
Beethoven for the funeral

Quite a fantasy

What can I say?
it’s how I operate

The doc took a quick look
and pronounced it benign
“Let’s just freeze that sucker off
and be done with it.”

He left
and returned twenty-three seconds later
with a small styro cup
of liquid nitrogen
and a long Q-Tip

It could have been a
bad scene for
my future progeny
had he fumbled
with that Q-Tip
even one quarter-inch

But he went right in
dabbed straight and true
told me the thing
would “fall off
in a few days,”
and sent me packing

Outside the office
I took a very deep
breath

Death

That bitch

I know she’ll get me
in the end

But if I play my cards right
and Almighty God allows it
at least I’ll be ready for her
when she puts on
that little black dress
and appears
ready to dance
in
my
doorway