The Arrival

The kitchen is dark except for the stove's red eye.

I’m chewing on a corner of toast, gone cold and dry.

Then the floorboards catch a low, electric hum,

the mechanical groan that says you’ve come.

On the paper plate, the crumbs begin to shake,

vibrating for the performance I have to make.

The chain pulls the door up its iron track.

I have twelve seconds to put the smile back

before the headlights cut across the hall

and your shadow starts climbing up the wall.