A Stranger in my House

Alarm bell shatters silence,     sleep filled eyes are open.          Is it all a dream,               or is this reality? Kettle screams for mercy.     Someone’s in the kitchen.          Making toast and coffee,               but only just for one. No one says “Good Morning.”     Sit down at the table,          the rustle of a newspaper               and tinkle of a spoon. Outside darkness lightens.     Biting cold lies waiting.          Each of us, trudges off,               to begin another day. Had a chat with Peter.     Peter is a good friend.          A companion and confidant,               since we were early teens. Emotions bubble forth,     whenever he’s excited.          Always firm and strong               in opinions that he holds. Lately he’s been quiet,     under constant prodding.          Not at all aroused by,               the stranger in my house. Back at home for dinner,     tired from a long day.          Ignoring one another,               we feast on loneliness. Retire to the bedroom.     Slide ‘neath icy sheets.          Weary eyes close slowly.               Will this stranger ever go? (c)  Jim     Dec/96 Written December 1st, 1996 © on Nov 12 2001 02:06 PM PST   0 • 1