at the door

I can’t tell who is;
don’t want to know.

The knocking continues
without pause,
as if I should rush to the door
answer the door
on command.

It’s like the phone:
its ring is an imperative;
but is it the ring
or the person causing the ring
who demands attention?

My little rebellion
is to ignore —
I tell myself that
as the ringing, the knocking

Will the door bend?
Will time bend
and let me skip all this?
What is on the other side?
A smile? A fist? A gun?
A letter? The end of days?

I can’t tell who it is;
don’t want to know.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to at the door

  1. Tejaswini says:

    Nice poem. I find a deep meaning and many thoughts expressed about what a person in the house can feel when he/she gets a door knock unknowingly. Actually, I am always eager to hear a knock on my door, as when someone comes, there is a change in the coming moments, some good and may be some bad (very rare) memories are to be created…so people coming definitely make life colorful and fear also makes us strong. So definitely, opening the door and knowing who is behind may bring some change and a new opportunity that shouldn’t be missed.
    You share your thoughts very nicely. Thanks for sharing.

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