Death Dialed My Number Poem by Martino Fortuin

It was evening and life was fair
The wind rushed by my face.
A sudden interruption of melodious thought…
Death was calling, to end my race.

Not realizing the tone at first…
Resembling an inescapable and unbelievable squeeze
I was tempted to answer the call
Life slowed down, frame by frame…then a total freeze.

Vision in slow motion, I recall
Wracked with unbearable pain squared
I battled to keep from slipping
To answer not, I dared.

Instead, I made my own call
And put him on hold
Even though I was in his cold grip
This absolute refusal to speak, made him less bold

Had I done so
I'd have lost that race, relinquished my space
My number would've been up
But, life's still fair, and the wind still brushes my face.