THE PORTER  

She went out to walk the words
and the words bit the children
and the children told their parents
and the parents loaded their guns
and opened fire upon the words
and the words howled, yelled
slowly licking their blind wounds
until at last they fell face down
on the bloody ground
And then came death
dressed in its best pomp
and stopped by the home of the poet
to call her out with desperate cries
and the poet opened the door
without suspecting what awaited
and saw death suspended by it shadow,
sobbing
“Accompany me,” death said to her,
“because it is night, we are in mourning.”
“And who has died?”, asked the poet
“Well, you,” responded death,
and extended her his arms
to give her his sympathy.

© 2007  Mario Meléndez