Front Door II

I was coming back
from late-night grocery-shopping
and I saw you at the edge
of the driveway.

What’d I say?

Nothing. You just waved
me on.

Weird. I wonder if I was there
and I just can’t remember.

Maybe. You were sort-of you.

Anyway, the whole lawn smelled
like some kind of ancient perfume.
The door was wrong; I mean it was really thick
and it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
Instead of a knocker
there was a small window.

The front hall was really bright. A pretty woman
in riding boots and a cream-colored dress
was eating martini olives
from a man with a long, curled
mustache.

She strains a little, and looks at the wall.

I think… a maid went under the stairs,
into the closet, and never came out.
Then there was a bright flash
in the living room.

And there was a phonograph
trying to get past just this one phrase.

What was it?

I don’t remember. Someone, a woman
singing. But when I knocked
on the door, my hand went through
the glass. And the woman
in the cream-colored dress
looked up.

Added: March 10, 2013 | Last changed: June 7, 2014