Death Rattle

Death slithers through the crowd,
picking a victim,
tingling and tickling on my scalp.
His fingers tug my pig tails,
straighten ties and starched collars,
unaware that I’m watching him.
Undulating, he caresses my back.
The cold lips of Death suck and coddle
my warmth
like a prize.
He doesn’t realize that
when he really comes for me,
I’ll be ready.