Death follows me

I do not lift my hands

conducting it

or saying it so

but it manages to stay

three feet behind me

And when I finally can stand still

finally land between four walls

it strikes

The rest of life knows

to jump in the backseat

Seatbelts, please!

Death must be dealt with

right away and always

Scrub the red-black stains

from tiles and

other nonabsorbent surfaces

Fresh paint over morbid graffiti

It’s a cover up

Sweep up the bones and

discard in the bins around back

Don’t forget to take it to the curb

on Wednesday night

to clear the wreckage and

rid the smells of my own life

decomposing around me

No fresh beginnings

with new sprouts of life worth living

Death knocks on every door

I call home