death came to visit
today

and now he sits,
smoking a cigarette,
in a chair
on the other side
of the room

he did not say
why,
simply barging into
the room
saying

hey
hey man
how ya doing
care for a
smoke?

he didn’t say much
after that so I went
on with things

read a magazine,
paid some bills,
made a sandwich and
ate it

still he sat,
just smoking and
smoking,
occasionally
asking me:

you sure you don’t
want one man?

I was sure
and after the fourth
or fifth time he
asked me if I wanted
to go somewhere


“a little noise will do us
good man”

“this place is quiet as
death”

I realized slowly he didn’t
mean for us to return if we
left

as I write this
he’s still over

smoking and smoking
and smoking

I weigh my options
as the sun sets once
again