a tall empty form...

Something that started as a sort of ‘mock poem’ but I thought I’d turn it into a slightly less mock-poem…Based on a little moment five years ago:

Good Friday, 2009

I’ll straighten my tie, press
the shaking red icon to hang
up, glide a straight line
towards the light
coming through
the door.

It will knock
twice only –
slowly, precisely.

A back-lit cut-out,
a tall empty form:
“Do you want any
fish?” he’ll enquire.

“I’m sorry,” I’ll reply,
“this is not my
house”.