Robbers

He says your name –

He says
it’s not a habit, it’s easier this way
if you don’t pay attention to what happens
next.

Don’t you see?

He holds his fingers on
your neck,

that you’re misusing me,
that you’re forgetting
everything that comes
after you.

Now you check
the door one, two,
three,
four times behind him.

But he comes back
to check up on you,
he says

the robbers can still get in
and take it all.

now it’s all wrong, it’s not right, he says,
when he runs his feet
on your grey rug.

I’m sorry, he says,
no, I take it back.

His black shoes ruin your rug
because he forgot it was snowing
in March,
it still snows in March, you say.

The edges of his mouth
curve, they form someone else’s name

someone else’s name
sounds like an apology
that rings your doorbell
until you answer, don’t check the door.

He drags his black shoes forth
and back on your grey rug,
a mouth you have
yet seen, and the images

of someone else
coming in
and taking it all.

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