Open House
after tea.
head for bed.
ok, no kitchen lights this time.
to the side comes a doorway.
a silhouette draws up in the moonlit curtains
like a Himalayan spine.
patient monster.
no negotiating.
glimpse of ghost skin.
it lurches
rotten avocado with boar bristles.
and then only the heating panel, the dryer, the bathroom door.
and you feel for the hall light.
turn it on.
feel a pathos churning.
near your bed.
cross to the left past the window.
mouselike scratching on the laminate, past the window, behind red curtains
a lump of face like a turkey stuffed in pantyhose,
half-lit, in your room.
clothing black snakeskin on tofu underbelly.
mind your gun.
head to the side of the bed to get the gun.
remember that you have no bullets.
you just never got around to it.
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