I hear you
Long before I see you.
The groaning of the taxi
As it pulls into our street.
The door which pushes open
Like the ceiling of a crypt,
And closes in the same way.
Your footsteps scratching
Over the gravel path
Towards the steps,
The heavy stone steps.
You insisted we build those steps,
Said they'd make the house look distinguished.
But now they're lined with dying plants
And the figure struggling to climb them
Looks anything but distinguished.
Your key fumbles in the lock.
It slips and clatters to the ground.
Your back cracks as you bend down to pick it up.
Your second attempt goes much like the first,
But the third time you hit the target
Only to find that the door was never locked
In the first place.
The door swings open,
Bringing you inside with it.
You stumble to gain your balance
And then shut the door before the dog
Manages to escape.
You insisted on that dog, too.
A huge, drooling, flea-ridden mutt.
It's still your only real friend.
You call out to me but I am not listening.
I'm staring out of the window
Into the pouring rain.
You flounce into the room,
Like some regal highness
Expecting a trumpet serenade.
One of your shoes is missing,
And in it's place is a bedraggled,
Dripping sock. You brought the world
Inside after you and trod it into my carpet.
I can smell the sorrows you try to abolish
On your stale breath.
You're making excuses,
Waiting for sympathy,
And when none comes
You keep on making excuses.
Finally I have had enough.
Enough of the nights spent away from you,
Enough of the tired waiting for your return,
Enough of the rain lashing against the window,
Enough of your horrid breath,
Enough of your stupid sock,
Enough of the footprints on my carpet.
I turn and look straight at you,
Directly into your eyes.
And you stare back at me,
Though your eyes probably don't see me
Through your matted hair.
I say one word.
Out.
And you look at me
Through suddenly sober eyes
In disbelief.
I say it again and you begin to stand;
I stand too and so we are,
Face to face,
Eye to bloodshot eye.
I say it one last time.
Out.
Of my room, of my apartment,
Of my life.
You take one last look at me,
Eyes wet with rain
And maybe a tear or two,
Before you turn back towards the door.
You reach for your key,
But think better of it.
You open the door
And though you can hardly balance,
You stand tall;
And though you have only one shoe,
You stride out into the storm.
A bolt of lightning rips through the sky
And the door slams with a crack of thunder.
And you're gone.
