A Brooch Of Butterflies Poem by Mark Heathcote

I never did notice
Deaths gape advancing
peeking at me.
Until I was - watching him.

I'd seen him in the coal cellar.
I'd seen him in the closet.
Like a brooch of butterflies
I crumpled in my pocket.

I'd seen him in the dark eyes
of a roadside rabbit
with tyre print fur
and a broken jaw socket.

It's only now I've noticed Death.
'That he's been playing-
all along, hide and seek.'
His introverted web is just out of reach.

Do I think to ask of him?
to count backwards,
sure enough, I did both.
But he's a cheat and I'll-be-found
like a brooch butterfly crumpled
in his childlike, musty pocket.