“Isn’t it sad,” she says when I answer her knock
but her wrinkled face doesn’t match the words
one corner of her droop-sided mouth turned up
in an almost-smile.

“I heard Millie only has one month left,” she says
looking to me for a response
with her squinty stare.

“One month,” the creaky, tremored voice says again
as she raises her hand
and unfurls a gnarled index finger.

There is an air of anticipation around her
a greedy hunger to feed on impending doom
stretching her tattered, greying wings
beak clacking
the reek of carrion on her breath.

Isn’t it sad, her smiling mouth said
not a question but a matter of fact
that had no effect.

Her demeanor speaks more loudly
says with glee
Ha!  It isn’t me
sonofabitch hasn’t gotten ME yet.

My mouth is frozen.

I close the door on that death-hungry smile
feeling the sickness of it clinging to my hide
and wishing
it were her turn with the reaper instead.