MAKING ROOM

I sat with glass of gin in hand
holding the cold crystal to my burning face
legs strewn aver an armchair
gazing out the door at the dripping red dusk
Out of the pavement came
Death.
He walked through my door
and grinned.
I moved aside to give him a place.
He turned and asked what was new
at home.

Poem taken from Planet Detroit, Spring 1985, edited by Kurt Nimmo.