Passing By

words

explore boundaries

divulge secrets

promulgate untruths

bounce like seeds on

tarmacadam

the doorbell rings

i put down my pen and look up

who could that be

the house is silent

afternoon sun streams by on its way

somewhere else

the clock ticks

my heart beats

i gaze at the window

a shadow moves

i lean back

steam rises from my coffee

mixing with dust motes

caffeinating them

they zip off

elsewhere

the doorbell rings again

i jump as my worst fears are confirmed

i knew it would ring again

and it did

the postie with a parcel

a neighbour in a nightie

a boy with a beagle

a politician from a party

possible visitors run through my mind 

en route to

another destination

my mouth is dry

i look down at my pen strewn

haphazardly

across my recent attempt to

murder a poem

the blood is on my hands

my finger prints on the weapon

i wrote my name at the top

for god's sake

what was i thinking

maybe if i just 

knock knock

who's there 

i gasp

don't know yet

could be anyone

i note their change of tactic from

door bell to wood knock 

with some trepidation

maybe if i just remain

still

they'll go on their way

to another place

© chris young 2019

image credit : https://writingcooperative.com/what-can-i-write-about-998a13b019ff