photo credits google images
Death was back in Starbucks again drinking coffee he had sent out invites but as yet there no sign of the other three.
Like last time he had made his mark people lolled back in their chairs and the sky was strangely dark.
He finished his coffee, it was his second cup he looked at clock and decided his wait to give up. He knew his friends were tardy but enough was enough and he had plenty to do collecting the dead and some other stuff!
He rose from his seat and made for the door, leaving a trail of black coffee on the floor.”Damn” he remarked looking down at his feet “This Columbian coffee goes right through me now” Off he stomped with wet dirty feet!
Pestilence,War and Famine were out somewhere having fun, too busy to join him , forgetting that he’s number one! Behind him the cleaner followed with a mop , turning to see him, death flashed him his smile , the man fell with a plop! Scooping him up as he went on his way mumbling to himself the start of another bloody day!
photo credits google images
photo credits telegraph.com
He did not need the others he was the boss, what ever they caused he picked up the loss. So if you see him keep on his right side don’t offer him Columbian coffee you might hurt his pride!
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This poem is a follow on to “Is It Really To Late ” which can be read here
willowdot21 