Off the Peg

Off the Peg


Death came in and tried my suit on
yesterday. “Not bad,” he said,
looking at nothing in an empty mirror.
He peered at himself sideways.
“A bit baggy in the seat
and the waist’s a trifle tight.
A good press wouldn’t do you any harm.”
He decided against wearing me
and walked out. As the door opened,
light flooded in.