Wednesday, 23 January 2019

Passing By

explore boundaries
divulge secrets
promulgate untruths
bounce like seeds on

the doorbell rings
i put down my pen and look up
who could that be
the house is silent

afternoon sun streams by on its way
somewhere else
the clock ticks
my heart beats

i gaze at the window
a shadow moves
i lean back
steam rises from my coffee
mixing with dust motes
caffeinating them
they zip off

the doorbell rings again
i jump as my worst fears are confirmed
i knew it would ring again
and it did

the postie with a parcel
a neighbour in a nightie
a boy with a beagle
a politician from a party

possible visitors run through my mind 
en route to
another destination

my mouth is dry
i look down at my pen strewn
across my recent attempt to
murder a poem
the blood is on my hands
my finger prints on the weapon
i wrote my name at the top
for god's sake
what was i thinking

maybe if i just 

knock knock
who's there 
i gasp
don't know yet
could be anyone

i note their change of tactic from
door bell to wood knock 
with some trepidation
maybe if i just remain
they'll go on their way

to another place

© chris young 2019

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