Sunday Drunk


He arrived late last night, banging on the door.

He arrived with eyes swirling and a mouth slack

from too much booze and laughter and food shoved

in an already full belly.

I don’t know how he got here, at my door, banging

and yelling so loud the neighbors came outside.

I sat there waiting till he left.

Surely he would leave.

He has to leave.

Both locks were latched carefully

I pretended to hear nothing.

As I pretended I wasn’t there, I wasn’t home, I was


Surely he would leave.

He has to leave

The remainder of his dinner was left

on my doormat in the morning.

He left.

But he’ll be back, banging on my door

yelling at me, yelling at them.

Mouth swirling and eyes slack

from too much fight, from too much talk

and not enough walk.

But he’ll leave.

He has to.