Uninvited Guests

December 16, 2010 at 11:56 am  •  Posted in Poetry by  •  0 Comments

Christmas wreath on the door of an apartment buildingThey come while I’m asleep, their heavy girth
wrapped in beautifully translucent
prophylactic, green protection from the
wetness of the world.

This year two of them
stand silently outside my apartment,
pressed close together and leaning against
the roughly plastered wall, “Why are you here
again,” I ask, knowing that they’re not
the same ones, but refusing to accept

their uniqueness. They don’t respond, but
stare at me with dark eyes against yellow skin,
offering blank promises to satisfy
my every need with the touch of a finger.
“What I need,” I say, “is for you to go away.”
Grabbing them by hand, I escort them

to the front door as they limply fight me
every step of the way. In the hallway,
others like them wait for my neighbors;
but some are missing, maybe welcomed
inside or tossed out on their backsides.
In the lobby I leave mine near the mailboxes,

their reflection in the glass a lost
puppy trapped in the rain. I harden
my heart: “I’m sorry, I don’t have room
in my life for you now. Maybe someone
else will want you.” In the morning, they’re
still sitting there, and I walk swiftly
past with my eyes locked on my cell phone.


Poem: Uninvited Guests © 2010 by Shawn Radcliffe / Branáin

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