Days pass, lives touch
Along stockade fencing.
Half-hearted waves, watching cars
Age, children growing taller
Come and go, yet knowing so little…
Doorbell taped over, knock… knock,
Out of milk, do you think,
Don’t mean to bother…
Of course, sweetheart, come on in.
You’re not, sweetheart; I know how it is.
Meant to pick some up,
Children tired, rushing, forgotten…
…remember when mine were young,
so long ago, days pass so quickly.
Hopeful coffee percolates. Do sit down.
Can’t now, empty regrets.
Really appreciate this,
Can pay, pick up, bring by…
No need, sweetheart, just glad you came.
Welcome anytime—
—conversations cut short by closed doors.
©T.Lynn Smith 2009
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