good people

please don't
drip
your blood and sorrow
at my front door

she said

with a patient smile
creasing the nicely made up eyes
and slightly pudgy fingers
making little dancing movements.

please don't
ring the bell
in the middle of a sunday afternoon
telling me your woes and troubles
as if i haven't heard them before
as if
i don't have any of my own.

please come round
to the back
to the servant's entrance
we are good people
you know
and always give alms
and a glass of water in the summer.


2 comments:

mesjay said...

terrific & terrible poem.

feddabonn said...

thanks@ terrific, mesjay, why terrible though? didn't want this one to be angry, for a change.