Why have you come?
Right now, at this moment?
Don’t I have enough on my plate?
Couldn’t you wait?
You’ve been hanging around for a while,
I see that now. Hiding behind the searing
heat of summer, sneakily posing as someone else.
Setting up camp, discretely I grant you,
you know how to blend with the scenery of life’s trials.
Thank God for my friends who know your stratagems of old.
They recognised you despite your sly wiles and camoflage.
You needle my absolutes
make them bleed,
then pick and prod at
the bare dried scabs
with bony fingers,
your sustenance my latent insecurities.
Sat at my ear, you funnel in doubt,
swap shoulders, take a different tack.
What was meant?
Perhaps after all, holding your peace might have been better.
You’re not needed.
They don’t like you you know.
MISTAKE, MISTAKE, MISTAKE.
White noise fills my mind
and for long moments two
and two make
And why must you slide into my bed to disturb
my rest with your demanding tantrums?
Don’t tell me you’re shy,
you don’t limit yourself to a set time and place
to cause ructions. Anywhere will do –
the coffee shop, supermarket or gym.
Sometimes I think, the more public the better.
It may be that you have to come,
that I must endure the visit but
don’t think that I’ll roll over
and let you take charge, dictate the course
of my days and nights.
I have weapons of my own,
I’ll wait you out.
You’ll be sent packing.
Why have you come? By Penelope Walker is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.