From the Loose Ends Poetry Marathon, February, 2016.
Twitch. Twitch. I feel it
as the door opens.
I feel it
as the door closes with a hissing drawn out sigh
cut off by a thud.
But not silence. No. A clatter
of feet on the wood floor
of voices that call out. Coats being shed and
hung up in the closet. I hear the hangers rattle together.
I twitch. Friendly voices. Let’s sit on the sofa and talk
voices. I twitch. I am friendly myself but today
I am not. No. I am really not friendly. Am I? I have friends but
I twitch at having someone
come into my house and we talk. About anything. I twitch
when I get a washer delivered. I twitch
when I say hello to the postman.
I have a broad definition for socializing and it includes
seeing cars go by on the street. I twitch. Please. Who let you in and
how fast can you leave