poem

The Question

The question is never far.

The problem isn’t proximity 

But how often it visits.

Sometimes weeks go by

Without hearing from it.

Then there are periods

When it overstays its welcome—

Incessantly whispering itself in my ear,

Lingering in the foyer, its Irish goodbyes.

I know it’s never leaving.

Its entourage has already unloaded

The car and brought its things inside. 

At nighttime it sleeps in my bed.

It stays up talking as long as it likes.

In exchange I get to stay alive

 

9/21/25