Knock Knock

I looked out at a streetlamp
and thought it was the moon.
You’ll be home soon,
I’m sure of it.

Me,
my typewriter,
my little life at this table.

That streetlamp’s light
warming up the room.

Tip tap
in time with the tapping
tree’s fingertips
on my window pane.

It’s the same,
night after night.
Tip tap
I tip toe round this house
in soft-socked feet
on floorboards.

Tip tap
I creep like a cat
so as not to creak
and stir the shadows.

I retrieve tea
in china cups,
clatter piles of plates
and return to my table
and my head.

In bed
I leave the light on,
in case you come home.
I leave the window
open a crack,
and pack myself up in pillows
and sit up.

Tip tap,
creak crack,
soft socks
waiting for the ‘knock knock’
that never comes.

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