Front Door



First Impressions #1

He came to the porch barefoot,
rounded in delicate pinks—then
those eyes—a blaze of blue—
heavily lashed. That’s all I saw,
pretty steps, hugging eyes.

Her, I saw through my own reflection,
soft blonde approach, already smiling,
head back, now forward—profile stop,
standing still—she’s dead unless walking—
performing a trick, then is stayed.

The child talked fake, like on a kids TV show,
but between smiley takes, the act dropped—
just gimmes and go-aways bringing down
mouth corners—promising to be nice if
demands are met precisely, immediately.

And the dog, root beer brown, was yelled at,
pushed back—it too had hugging eyes,
stiffed into a stay, and barked gimmes or
go-aways—sniffing for snack, for attack,
for a family captured by the ring of bell.



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