SQUATTER
A squatter squats inside my house,
I give him shelter, bread, and wine,
I give him everything that is mine.
He spends the night and that's just fine.
I let him stay because he shows
that he is safe, and that I know.
I give him everything I sow
all my sheets and all my clothes.
And then the next morning comes.
He awakes, and then he's gone.
Just as he leaves another comes.
This one's family, a close friend.
No, I know it's not the end,
so I let him come in.
No, the bell doesn't toll for him.
As I greet this friend with hi,
he says "hello" and then he sighs.
What's wrong my friend, I must ask.
He says he's done and gone to die.
I say I am surprised, although I'm not,
it's in his eyes.
He says "farewell" and "I must go."
I say "goodbye, I loved you so."
The last time I see him go.
A stranger comes to my door,
not a squatter, not a whore.
This man, I know him well,
yet he is a stranger still.
I shut the door in his face.
He says, "That won't do, your a disgrace."
I open up the door to see,
the man has become me.
I shut the door and run away.
Things collapse and fadeaway.
I've run into another day.
© Connor Donovan, 9/11
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