Death Moves In Poem by abra cadabra

Today Death became
my new roommate
I could smell
his stale cut flowers
drowned too long in the vase
No-one else noticed
not the Japanese girl
on the subway
not Henry the janitor
or the architect next door

But the cat knew
when I came home
her sixth sense saw
Death
had moved in
Now the chill seems intense
even the sun
through big brownstone windows
streaming down at noon
wont warm condemned cells

Death rests a hand
on the thermo
and he never lets go
His focus on time is acute
blinding eyes
until seconds are splutters
each one vanishing
beyond breath

After the Doc's news
when you understand
escape routes
have been sealed
you reach a decision
to advertise or lie low
until Death gets his way
Life remains polite
so you offer him a chair
and while Death drinks your future
you chew on the past
timing sips with desperate precision
topping up his glass
to understand the emptiness of your own
the weight of the bottle
firmly in his hands