Because I would not stop for Death — A poem, with apologies to Emily Dickinson

Because I would not stop for Death —
He shot me in the knee —
From nearly half a mile away —
With Barrett Nine-Eight-B.

He soon caught up — He did his thing
His Scythe ’round Him revolved —
Then hauled me off in Carriage black,
‘Twere also fines involved —

I pouted and looked out the glass
And huffed with my arms crossed —
I couldn’t stand the fact that in
the end, my race was lost —

He left me in my holding cell —
And there he says I’ll stay —
He’s lucky that my leg won’t heal —
Or else I’d run away —

So many days have passed, but I —
Think that one was the worst —
If I could do it all again —
I’d try to shoot him first —