He always shows up uninvited.
And closed doors don’t slow him in the least.
(It’s like that when you haven’t a face,
a body
or a name.)
His approach sinks your belly like a battleship,
and ushers in a near silent gasp-
“Oh no.”
To which,
were anyone else to hear and wonder,
you’d deny ever uttering.
So you reach for a bottle,
and the volume button,
also the telephone, the tv and a book-
none of which can you pay any attention to,
breath having suspended upon his arrival
in singular focus:
that of prey.
And how, possibly, to get away…

Consider the difference
were you to put down the glass,
smile at the kids still out playing frisbee in the yard,
take a seat, look at him
and say,
“Hello, old friend. What have you come to tell me?”