Trust me: you're dead

Trust me, you're dead, buddy, from this moment on.

But what can you mean sir, my life can't have gone?

It has mate, believe me, you are quite deceased.

I know my own business. Your soul, it's released.

There must be an error, it wasn't my time,

I've got lots to live for, I am in my prime.

Ha-ha, oh-ho-ho, but do you remember

That doctor's appointment you made last December?

What? That was no more than some mild hypertension,

Cholesterol build-up, and water retention.

She told you to lose weight, not put on five kilo,

And carry on smoking and drinking, as if no

Alarms bell had rung for you. Face up to it, son,

Your number is up now, Your days are all done.

O ~ o ~

Inspired by a conversation I had with my doctor... more than once.

On the subject of the Grim Reaper, my father was quite tickled by this cartoon (first published in The Oldie in 2017), a cutting of which he kept on his living room wall until I took it down, after his own appointment with the scythe-wielding angel in 2020.

Thanks for reading