Funny how your comfort can come to be
a sense of being permanently aggrieved;
the plaintiff in a case that never ends,
a man obscurely wronged, deprived, deceived,
awaiting payment of forgotten debts
that now, it’s clear, will never be received.
It’s cold out here. Inside, you’ve laid a fire.
I hear you strike a match.
You’ve left the door unlocked. My fingers, numb,
are fumbling with the latch.