Today's poem is from the poet Michael Mayo:
Blowing off Death
Tonight, I left Death a message
On his voice mail saying:
“We will not be able to join you
As had we earlier agreed.
We will gladly meet you some other night.
You’ve got my number. Give me a call.”
Tonight, while Death sits at home
Watching reruns and nursing a beer,
We will rip off the filters
Of every cigarette we smoke.
We will snort the salt
And squeeze the lime in our eyes.
Tonight, instead of looking over our shoulders
For that buzz-killing bastard,
We will drink rubbing alcohol
Until we are damn near blind.
We will stumble into the busiest intersections
And laugh as cars speed by.
Tonight, while Death is safe
And warm in bed,
We will soak our clothes in kerosene
And ignite ourselves when we shiver.
We will cut open our veins
And pour in bleach.
Tonight, there is no such thing as dying,
As long as he checks his machine.
"Blowing Off Death" won the 2006 North Caroline State University Brenda L. Smart Undergraduate Poetry Prize.
Check out Michael's Whitmanesque tattoo over on Tattoosday.