Expecting You Poem by Conor Dowd

I've been expecting you to call
and the writing on the wall tells me all I need to know -
numbered, numbered, weighed, divided -
it tells me where to go, which path to choose,
which seed to sow.

For almost half a lifetime
I've wondered when would I arrive
and feel you next to me, alive,
your voice so full of prophecy
(because it's easy to be certain when you've lived as long as you) .

I've felt you many times before, it seems,
watching me at corners and patrolling in my dreams,
I've felt your little handprints every time I've felt defeat
when everyone has left and there's no one left to meet.

You'll probably surprise me when I hold you
and when I rant and rave and throw the world against you,
screaming for more time, more time,
and feed you cliched line and cliched line and wrestle to the ground
and in the fatal brawl loose all my energy.

I already sense your smile, your frown.
Please, close the door,
come in,
sit down.