Death Barged In

In his Russian greatcoat
slamming open the door 
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.

He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers 
by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.

Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table
as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed
between us.
 
Even as I sit here,
he stands behind me
clamping two 
colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down 
and whispers to my neck,
From now on, 
you write about me.