Doorman

Up this early, way before the day unfolds
Untucks itself; up early, is it four or five
Time blurs at this hour; the doorman for
 
The dog, I should join him, lift our legs to
Mark our territory, our time, and then bark
At passing cars, masters of what we survey
 
But no, I’m the doorman waiting his return
Sitting here with my mind roving about
Its time and territory, lifting its leg, it’s all
 
Mine, no need to bark or fret, it’s all mine
Over here is a cupboard full of the things
I need to do, yet have left undone, things
 
I should have said but didn’t, over here
Are family members and friends I miss
At this hour they seem sad and restless
 
If I believed in ghosts, they would be all
The ghosts anyone would need, I recall
Whole scenes with them and I am always
 
Fumbling about, blurred by the early hour
They whisper, I try to fix the things I did
This is what I get, this is what I deserve
 
I hear the dog cross the deck, open the door
For him, he enters and never thanks me, it’s
Part routine, part ritual, the day has begun
 
We become shadows, almost invisible as we
Cross the room, as the day begins to unfold,
Untuck itself and the light untangles our day.

-- J. K. Durick