Death came knocking at my door today,
Looking smart in his robe with his sickle.
“I’ve come to take your soul.” he said.
Oh man, was I in a pickle.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, “How ‘bout we make a deal?”
My mind was racing now, desperately crafting my appeal.
He sighed heavily, like a child starting a chore,
All this begging ado was becoming quite a bore.
“All right,” he said, “I will make you a trade.”
“But know that in time, your debt must be fully paid.”
I was gambling with Death. He let me roll the dice.
I’d live another day, but what would be the price?
“A body part,” he said, “I’ll take one with me”
“You’ve a minute to decide. What will it be?”
Without my heart, I could not love.
If I had no arms, I could not shove.
To walk, of course, I’d need my legs.
And without feet, well, I’d just have pegs.
If I gave up my shoulders, I’d lose my brassiere.
And you’d have nothing to pinch if he took my derriere.
Nor could I part with my flowing tresses,
And without hips, I’m a straw in dresses.
There’s no way I could let him take my skin.
It’s the only thing holding my organs in!
Maybe a liver, a kidney, or a gallbladder in lieu?
I mean, does anyone know what these organs even do?
• • •
Death tapped his watch and mouthed, “TICK. TOCK. TICK.”
I was sweating profusely. Which part would I pick?
My time had run out. I could no longer stall.
I cried, “TAKE MY FAT!! YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL”
Take my love handles that jiggle,
My underarm wings that wiggle,
No double chin when I grin,
No more wishing to be thin!
Death looked at me sideways. He knew I had won.
He could ask for no more. The deal had been done.
The moral of this story is if it’s your turn to die,
Try to trade it for something, you can replace with a pie.