San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

David Bortin
Countdown
 
If I saw Death in hot pursuit and gaining ground,
of course I’d try to find some desperate Fixx,
like planting obstacles to trip the horse he rides—
a running track, or stationary bike.
 
But lo! Death never moves an inch.
His gaze a tractor beam,
it’s I approaching him, instead,
and cannot swerve aside.
 
So tactics change:
slow down
and look around.
Enjoy.