The Grey Creature

There is a woman that visits
When I’m home alone.

She doesn’t knock.
She just let’s herself in without my permission.

She arrives uninvited.
It could be night or day.

She’s not a very pretty woman
And her conversations make me feel tired and sad.

She fills the room with a stale musty smell
And I don’t want to get up
But I do
To open the windows
Hoping to extinguish her.

The window frames are old
A struggle to open
But I do so
Cursing
The quirky dry wooden frames
With the rattling glass.

She is colorless
Like an old photo
But lacks the nostalgia.

There is no charm.
Just the heaviness
Of a scratch covered glass paperweight.

She helps herself
To my booze and cigarettes
Starting with a glass
All ladylike...

Then at some point
Drinking straight from the bottle.

The ashtray fills as my pack empties
And I’ve had but one of them.

I want her to leave.


But
As always
She overstays.

It must be her job.

I think that she visits me
Just to make sure that I get absolutely nothing done.

That
The plants don’t get watered
The bills don’t get paid
The dishes sit in the sink.

The house doesn’t get vacuumed
The bed doesn’t get made.

Words don’t even get written.

The ancient cat sits about licking her ass
Not a care in the world
While the dogs turn in circles
And wonder
When they are going to be fed
Next.

They do not even smell the grey creature
Sitting on the sofa
Next to me
That causes the hours to go by
Without a whimper
A growl
Or a bark.