It was a dark April night.

the suburbs,

if you can call them that
and keep a straight face.

appeared to be,
blanketed depressive
Silence.

As I walked the streets that night,
I pondered the importance of
urban mausoleums.

Dollar Store teddy bear,
the blue fur, turned the brown with mud
from the rain that would never wash my sins
away. When death came from tea.
The icy winds of early spring
were thick with burning wood.

Through my window,

the sounds of Bob Marley,
everybody get happy,
more like, everybody,
live in delusion.

I had confined myself to that chair once again.
The rocking chair with the ugly pink cushions
my mother bought it at Goodwill.

When death finally came for tea.
I was thinking about my grandfather,
alone in that hospital bed.
I wondered if, that’s what it was like to get old.

To be all by yourself,
in a room that smells like rubbing alcohol,
covered in blankets that never seem to get warm.

When death came for tea,
I was wondering if there was such a thing as reincarnation.

When death came for tea,
I fell asleep in my chair.

Somehow I knew I’d never wake up.

When death came for tea,
I finally managed,

a small drop of blood with all
that would remain,
in that ugly pick chair.
When death came for tea,
we chatted about like the old friends
we knew we always have been.
When death came for tea.
It wasn’t suicide,

I considered homicide.
Death came for me, it was all over.
That blue teddy bear,
and a faded yearbook photo.
Outdated.
Just like everything else.
Don’t be afraid,
when death comes for tea.