Non-Erotic PoetryReaperHe rides a pale Cadillac,
and keeps a list of names in the Palm Pilot
which sits in the breast pocket of his
(black of course)
Armani suit.
He highlights a name,
touches it with the stylus,
(Scythe shaped, for where would we be without our roots?)
(Cast adrift, I have no doubt)
and then, au revoir mon ami--
Death is calling on line one.
Be sure to pick up your check
on the way out.
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English
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