Mr. TGIO

Death seems to speedily work,
Even though how hard
And how long a day such effort entails…
Well, that’s anybody’s guess.

For instance…

Sunrise always starts
With the little wife
Pressing and steaming
Death’s attire for the day.

Later, the temptress daughters
Arrange death's dinner setting
When guests are expected.

During the day and often into the night…

Death’s ghostly neighbors
Play chess atop their tombstones,
Or wander about stealing flowers
From gravesites and decorating
Their own markers.

But, stay busy Death must.

He reconnoiters vulnerable parts of town
Looking for anyone with
Either raucous coughing,
Faltering gait,
Or desperate signs of a failing heart.

Day’s end for Death
Allows time to inventory conversions
As he proudly walks home,
Oblivious of the rain,
The thunder,
The soaked attire that will surely need
Attending to by his little wife.

Tomorrow will present new candidates.
Some will hesitate.
Some will beg for his services.
While others will resist, but acquiesce in the end,
Muttering “Thank God It’s Over.”

After all…

Who knows better of the end than
That invisible recruiter we call Death,
But whose real identity, as known amongst his friends,
Is Mr. TGIO.