Posted: January 24, 2013 in Uncategorized

he sits with his shitty boots up on your kitchen table

leaned back in the chair, head tilted back

leering at you through half-closed eyes

as he picks his grimy teeth


you are glad to be far enough back not to smell his breath

some strange combination (death and flames?)

you wonder how you ever got here

how you’ll ever get those damned boots off your table


he didn’t seem like this when he first came around

murmuring seducing syllables as he breathed against your ear

the sound seemed to be truth, comfort, rescue, freedom

he understood you, he said, and others did not

you didn’t notice he’d backed you into a corner

until you had run all the others off


the menace in the air makes you forget

it never was his kitchen table, this never was his house

though most friends are long gone

One stands by, patient, waiting

a word from you and

He’d kick the chair out from under this intruder


but for now you stand at the sink

heavy and unmoving amidst the stench and baleful glare

too mesmerized by what you see

to remember your freedom


in His mercy

He sends you singers


~karen swank


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