Death moved in with me some years ago
and will not leave.
It pays its rent in ticking clocks,
I hear it sigh in squeaking floors and howling wind,
and dust reminds me it is here to stay.
It sits opposite me at breakfast in a silent grumpy mood.
I put a brochure of a cruise on its plate today,
hoping it will take the hint
and pack its stuff, and go away.