Why are you hiding beneath the staircase?
Are you a thief come to rob me
or just a joker out to give me a little scare?

I see you better now but wish I didn’t.
You’re taller than I thought but your clothes
give you away, black as sin, outdated –

No. No. I mean they are becoming to you,
in an old-world way, like Bosch or Brueghel.
I think I expected more of a Johnny Cash look.

Pardon me but I don’t think I’m ready to go.
Come on into my living room
and let’s talk this over like two adults.

Thank you. Now sit back in the La-Z-Boy
and rest your weary bones.
Can I give you some advice?

Good! You know, you look like Hell, empty sockets
and bony hands, enough to scare the dead.
If I were your PR guy I think

I would recommend a complete makeover with
blonde hair and flesh face, a full-figured female
look. Ditch the cape and the hooded cowl.

People would line up to follow you,
to join the “Black Angel” brigade;
your current image is appalling.

I feel you are ignoring me completely.
Why don’t you put your scythe back in the violin 
case. Let me pour you a bloody mary.

Oh! Is that your hearse parked outside my door?
Look! The cop is ticketing you for an expired tag.
Why don’t you take care of things while

I slip out the back door wearing a false moustache,
a painted face, very big shoes
and my clown suit so as to be totally

Unrecognizable.