your blood and sorrow
at my front door
with a patient smile
creasing the nicely made up eyes
and slightly pudgy fingers
making little dancing movements.
ring the bell
in the middle of a sunday afternoon
telling me your woes and troubles
as if i haven’t heard them before
i don’t have any of my own.
please come round
to the back
to the servant’s entrance
we are good people
and always give alms
and a glass of water in the summer.