There she sat, Death, drinking a beer on the stoop, not a care in the world.
It was summer in New York, a tiding of light before the war, Death watching, amused.
No lamb blood to smear on our doors to make her passover, all would fall this time.
She watches a young couple walking hand in hand, she watches children play in the park.
She watches a chronic bachelor smoke and read a military thriller, imagining glory.
She watches a girl who is waiting anxiously for a boy, a boy who stole her heart.
She drinks her beer, looks upon all she will reap soon enough, all we throw away.
Diffident and distant, she cares not for this world; This is just a 9 to 5 in heaven.
But we will care, when all our vanities burn the world to ash, no lamb blood to pass us over.