A Contemplation of Death

Sometimes, like now, you come for crowds,
lashing out with the vicious scythe of pestilence
making haystacks of bodies
or whirling your sword right and left
felling warriors on the battlefield with ferocious intent.
At the same time
(at the same time!)
you stalk one body alone,
walking through the door as though you own the place
not knocking or asking permission
just walking right in and sitting on the couch, waiting.
Or you steal into the house we thought was locked
tiptoeing in with stealth.
Or, like an evil genie,
you squeeze in through cracks we thought were sealed
dangling the promise of three wishes before us
wickedly knowing they'll hang unanswered
(when it would only take one, only one!)
slipping into the house like a miasma
to balloon and swell till your presence
hovers in all corners at once.
I see you
glinting your wicked eyes,
licking your lips
waiting your turn
your sure turn
waiting
waiting.