Thirty Three Years Go By

And Not Once Do You Come Home

To Find A Man Sitting In Your Bedroom

That Is

A Man You Don't Know

Who Came A Long Way To Deliver One Very Specific Message

Lock Your Back Door, You Idiot,

However Invincible You May Imagine Yourself To Be

You Are Wrong

Thirty Three Years Go By

And You Loosen The Momentum Of Teenage Nightmares

Your Breasts Hang Like A Woman's

And You Don't Jump At Shadows Anymore

Instead You May Simple Pause To Admire

Those That Move With The Grace Of Trees

Dancing Past Streetlights

And You Walk Through Your House Without Turning On Lamps

Sure Of The Angle From Door To Table

From Table To Staircase

Sure Of The Number Of Steps

Seven To The Landing

Two To Turn Right

Then Seven More

Surely You Will Float Serenely On The Moving Walkway Of Memory

Across Your Bedroom And Collapse With A Sigh Onto Your Bed

Shoes Falling -thunk, Thunk- Onto The Floor

And There Will Be No Strange Man

Suddenly All That Time Sitting There

Sitting There On What Must Be The Prized Chair

In Your Collection Of Uncomfortable Chairs

With A Wild Look In His Eyes

And Hands That You Cannot See

Holding What You Do Not Know

So Sure Are You Of The Endless Drumming Of Your Isolation

That You Are Painfully Slow To Adjust

If Only Because Yours Is Not That Genre Of Story

Still And Again, Life Cannot Muster The Stuff Of Movies

No Bullets Shattering Glass

Instead Fear Sits Patently

Fear Almost Smiles When You See Him

Though You Have Kept Him Waiting For Thirty Three Years

And Know He Has Let Himself In

And Brought You Fistfuls Of Teenage Nightmares

Though You Think You See In Your Naivete

That He Is Empty Handed

And This Brings You Great Relief At The Time

New As You Are Really To The Idea That

Even After You Have Long Since Gotten Used To The Parameters

They Can All Change

While You're Out One Night Having A Drink With A Friend

Some Big Hand May Be Turning A Big Dial

Switching Channe