You Will get Away With it

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Every so often,

I hear the doorbell ring,

When I’m not expecting company.

Sometimes,

I look through the peep hole,

And see nothing at all,

“Damn kids,”

I’ll say,

Presumptively.

Sometimes,

It’s just the mailman,

So I sign for something,

Then he’s on his merry way.

But once in a while,

It’s you,

“Come on in,”

I say.

“Take a seat,”

I’ll go get some drinks,

And snacks.

We relax,

Tell some stories,

To fill in the gaps,

“It’s been too long,” you say.

I know it has,

“But I cannot stay,”

I also know that,

“Take your time,”

Glad I could give you,

Some of mine.

When you stand up, 

With your arm,

Half in your jacket,

I ask nothing more of you.

When there’s nothing left to say,

All I want,

Is to be sure,

For now,

That you’re doing okay.

Static Friction

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The dresser won’t budge,

It’s been there for a while,

Maybe the floor is used to it.

Would it hold a grudge,

If it felt exiled?

What if it fit?

The spot underneath,

Tan, sandy-brown,

Like an old business sock.

Or a heath,

Found downtown,

In the land of hard-knocks.

Maybe a change of scenery,

Is what it needs,

Instead of rearrangement.

Maybe it should see some greenery,

I could toss it into the weeds,

If I could accept the estrangement.

I hope,

It doesn’t score the floorboards,

Or tip over.