The following is from

The Azazeel Poems

aka

“I know you’re in love with Death”

Two Rolf Auer, 29 April 2015 c.e. aka A.D. We ~10:51

In my mortal previous life,

I was a pacifist.

He was the de facto dictator

of the world.

My wife Azazeel –

aka The Angel of Death –

and I wondered aloud

after dinner one day

how to do him.

I proposed

that I pose as a

journalist seeking

to write his biography.

“That definitely would appeal

to his massive ego,”

mattter-of-factly stated Azazeel,

“These types can’t resist

bragging about

writers coming to them

on their knees…”

The big day with

the big man

soon arrived.

I was quietly ushered

into his august presence.

The de facto dictator of the world

was guarded by minimal security.

Self-consciously earnest, I began the interview.

“Circumstances today

are rife with turmoil, struggle

and unrest. Was your ordeal

much different?”

“I had to overthrow the

previous government,” he replied.

“With armed might?”

“That’s often the case.”

“Were there many casualties

on your side?”

“Quite a few, actually.

Nearly a pyrrhic victory.”

“And civilians, too?”

“The people greeted

me with open arms

and cheered me,” he asserted, as I

remembered all the empty streets

I saw while driving to his

palatial headquarters.

“You’ve instituted reforms, then?”

“I had to override

environmental concerns, yes.

Aside from that,

it’s business as usual.”

“Your country’s exceptional history

of serial usurped governments presently

seems stable, and yet…” I trailed off,

ostensibly pensive, hoping for a nibble

on the bait.

“It’s had its ups and downs,

I admit, but with me

as head of state,

stability is the

order of the day,” he smiled,

yet not with his lizard eyes.

“What are your country’s

major industries?

Are they resource-based?”

“Oil, mining, money crops.

You know…” he said shrugging,

and spreading his hands,

disingenuously disparaging

his answer’s importance.

“These are nationalized?” I queried.

“The people have

no business acumen.

I’m providing crucial

guidance in that respect, yes,”

he said, glancing

at the wall clock.

That was my cue.

“What’s crime like?”

“What do you mean?” he almost snarled,

locking his eyes on mine.

“I mean, is there more

crime now or less?

And what about corruption?”

He bristled at

my brazen, bold insinuation.

“You know, crime

is difficult to control

even at the best of times!”

“Are there more murders now?” I prodded.

“Times are tough.

You know how it gets.”

“Have you tried increasing

the police?” I led him.

“That didn’t help.”

I dropped the

$64-million-dollar question:

“Have you ever personally killed anyone?”

He started. He wasn’t expecting that.

“This interview is terminated!” he angrily snapped.

“My aide will see you out.”

Later, I reviewed the

interview with Azazeel,

smilingly mocking my whining intonations

that crept unwelcome into my last question to him.

She laughed at my recollection of his abrupt response.

“Signs point to yes,’ she chuckled.

She brandished a report

by Human Rights Watch

tallying that country’s recent “disappeared”

as numbering in the thousands,

especially among the vulnerable.

“Too bad we don’t have

a breakdown of the prevalent types

of deaths there,” she declared.

In light acknowledgement of her astute observation,

I filched a playful kiss from Azazeel.

“What’s his personal life like?”

“Single, never married,

not even common-law,

no children.”

“Personal wealth?’

“Untold millions, by all accounts.

Secret untraceable offshore tax-haven accounts.”

“Weaknesses?”

“Likes fast cars,

easy women,

and pricey booze.

A coward.”

“Recommendation?”

“The world is a better place

without him. The sooner

the better, I’d say.

A weekend

fatal car accident

on his way

from his bank

to his mistress.”

Subsequent to our

mental perambulations,

the twisted, burnt-out

wreckage of his Porshe

was determined to be a

high-speed mishap

fortunately involving

no other casualties.

His remains

could only be identified

by the small, charred, 24-caret-gold

Horn of Plenty

still hanging around his neck.

However, no one could explain away the

two different types of human

teeth marks on his femur bones.