Home

I sense the unspoken questions
being asked.

1. Where have you been?
2. What time do you call this?

I feel the need to explain myself.
To show what I've been through.

You look as though you've been dragged through a hedge.
Backwards.

As a matter of fact, I say,
removing a twig from my hair...

But all I get is the cold and cruel stare.

So stuff that!

I go into the next room
and photograph the cat.

I write a poem.
Home.

Business as usual.
I'm home.



Whatever gets you through the night