The Doormat’s Perspective

I said I’d cover for him, sure.

I’m the one who’s always pure

or just too soft to say a word

when the request is this absurd.

I’m waiting for a text to light

the empty kitchen in the night.

My dinner’s sitting on the tray,

the afternoon has slipped away.

The grease is cooling on the plate,

a white skin forming. It’s too late

to pretend this is a noble heart.

I’m just the one who can’t depart.