seeing you
no longer brings me joy
your welcome mat
scuffed nearly unintelligible
is worn to hell
no longer a good place
for me and my clean shoes
to camp
waiting for the time
at best imagined
when the invitation's in
professional detachment rains
on every chance encounter
since my account was moved to suit
and all the friendly banter
has unrolled
dumping context at the doorstep
like the beach sand from a shore trip
good
but better left outside
on the door mat
with the disconnected bell
ringing with a silence
shaped like you
seeing you
no longer brings me joy
because without a doubt
seeing me
never really did
© 2019 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
