Why have you come?

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.


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 will be sent packing.

First published in Coze 2017 available from https://www.curtinwritersclub.com/coze-journal-2017

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