After The Wake
written by: David Estringel
@The_Booky_Man
There’s a
rap, rap, rapping
on my bedroom door.
The rocking chair
creaks.
The ceiling fan light,
overhead, winks
in flirtatious rhythm.
Who else but me
disturbs the dust
and haunts
the cold of these walls
and hungry keyholes?
Shadows
enter at the exit
(I hear)
and outstay their welcome.
I yawn
and stretch
and rub my eyes,
as if to say,
“Time to go. Party’s over,”
but they don’t listen.
Can’t say when it started.
Don’t know when it will end.
Just hoping they’re not waiting
for me to join
the fun.
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