Chatting With Death

I was walking down the street
Like any normal person,
I met a boy about my age
I am sixteen,
He smiled at me,
With mischief in his eyes,
His long braid swinging,
We talked for a while
He was so funny,

A yell behind me,
Made me turn,
An old man was dying
His wife was crying
There was nothing I could do,

I turn again to see the boy,
Walk away
With scythe in hand,
Looks at me
With a finger to his lips,

A chill went down my spine
I looked at the man
The boy
His scythe
I think,
I just chatted with death