It's just the boy, the dogs, the cat
And me.
Nobody else is home, no one,
You see.
And every last one of us looking
At the door.
People are missing, gone somewhere.
What for?
And why is that so doggone strange?
Absence
Is a presence, heavy and thick.
Weighing
Considerably more than you'd think.
All of us
Feeling what isn't even here.
Not knowing
Why the moment is queer.
3 comments:
85 quid for a flat iron? Ridiculous!
p.s. absence and the anticipation of return are important aspects of our lives, keep up the faith, we stand behind you.
That is a true statement by John. Hey I really like that poem.
oh, this is my favorite so far, if you ever get a chance, could you check out my blog... sometimes i post poetry that i wrote myself
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