Death forbids laughter.
It forbids smiles and dimples
and little wrinkles around the eye.
Death forbids dancing and moving and
holding one another so close.
Death turns you upside down, picks you up
by the ankles and shakes you manically.
It throws you over its shoulder, pats you on the bum
and takes you away.
Death watches you.
It watches your family, your friends, your dog, your work colleagues
everyone you care about, everyone you don’t care about.
Death glazes its eyes, scratches itself, and yawns with a sigh.
It stretches its legs, cracks its knuckles, puts its hat on, and leaves for work.