Your Littlest Smile

Death, rather diffident (rather shy) comes to me & says: 'It is time to die.' 'Ok...' I say '...when? ' '...like, this moment? ' 'This second...? ' I struggle with my heart attack as Death (feeling bad about it) reposses my artefacts. Outside, a van pulls up with neat Gothic script DEATH - REMOVALS. it spells out in big bold letters. I like it. Death's got style (& a nice smile) & is a kind... ...of groovy guy. Or is he a lady... ...boy...it's hard to tell this here heart attack sure hurts like hell. 'Ok, boys - take it all away! ' Death's little helpers all big bruisers all over 7' 2' (former nightclub bouncers) set to it with a will. They take away the blue sky under which I had first kissed you. They take away that night sky under which I had kissed you more. They took away the little day to day things I always loved the shape of your mouth your continuosly falling hair brushed impatiently away from your eyes ...your eyes... the smell of your perfume in an empty room the littlest of your smiles I had saved for a rainy day meanwhile like a living Houdini I had done it somehow wrestled out of the heart attack's strait jacket. 'Damn! ' Death spat in a peevish manner. 'How, in God's name did you do that? ' Death, sighed: 'Ok, kid...ya got me - this time! ' 'Right, boys... put it all back! Put everything back! ' Les boys, scowl at me as if to say: ' I'll remember you ...sunny Jim! ' 'You...' Death snarled from the side of his mouth annoyed now (no more Mr. Nice Guy) 'You...I'll see you again! ' A tear...trickled down my cheek (unable to speak) all I could do was glance down (your littlest smile) clasped tightly in my hand.