In my dream, death follows me everywhere I go
She looks out from every anxious pause, every hue and note
She hovers on my shoulder like a caring guardian
Casts a worried eye over my life as an elderly relative might
For it’s not me she’s after.
In my dream, death seems constantly distracted
She is neither here nor there, caught somewhere between two worlds
She looks over my shoulder as a body hits the floor with a dull slump
Tips her hat towards the junkie curled outside the train station
She smiles at an old lady behind me in the supermarket queue
Casts a backwards glance at a stranger I pass on the street
I wonder if I brought her with me
I wonder if she chooses or simply obeys
If she is chained to the course of fate or the whims of her fancy
In my dream, me and death play a tense game of chess
Me nervous and concentrated, her aloof and careless
I can’t help but notice the glint in her eye as I take her pawns
The delicate curl of her lips as I close in methodically on her army
A fickle woman is death.
