Rinse and Retreat

sorrow doesn’t knock
she just lets herself in
and throws down her bags
on the guest room bed
and then picks and unpacks
like a tandem parade
and puts her knick-knacks
high on handsome display

then she sits at the kitchen
and asks to be fed
and not if you had
other plans instead
and she mandates attention
all evening long
but snubs when you mention
you work at dawn

like a mother she hints
with laughter at flaws
as she points out the dints
in the rafters and walls
and she finds every fault
from highest to low
and says,
“Boy have you really
  let yourself go.”

but it’s just my cyclical fate
to slip through fickle states
sometimes the goodness stays
sometimes I sleep for days

when I awake, she’s gone,
without a note

though she always leaves,
what if one day
she won’t?

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