Let It In? Poem by David Taylor

It’s arrived at your door
and rings the bell,
as your stroll down the hallway
thinking “at this hour, what the hell? ”
Quickly it rings
and then rings again,
then rattles the mail box
with an urgent refrain.
(Mind now moving faster than feet,
wondering who it is
that you’ll meet) .

Dressed drably in
a grey overcoat worn,
that presents a slightly menacing form.
With a wide brimmed cavalier hat
shadowing darkly
its glinting fat eyes,
with its face muffled by
a collar that’s raised
just a little too high.
It brushes past murmuring
(as though it had
met you before)
the instant you started
to open the door.

Muddy footprints now track
down the hall;
(you follow as though
your name it had called) .
Your under sink cupboard,
(that is virtually new) ,
it is already rapidly
rummaging through,
and brandishing that
half empty bottle of gin,
(that you say you have kept there
since sometime last spring) .

Then searching the fridge
for those midnight snacks
(which seem to be hiding
right at the back) .
Eating as though
it had never eaten before
and wiping its mouth
with its five fingered paw,
then returning to see
if it can find something more.

And with a tilt of its hat
and surefooted step,
proceeds up the stairs
and then to your bed,
and looks through the drawers
you keep near to your head.
Then from below
that wide brimmed hat
you’re not sure if it smiled
(or perhaps winked)
about that?

It now stands in front
of your wardrobe door
with the mirror that reaches
from the top to the floor.
There is no reflection
of it to be seen,
(and you’re wondering if it is
all just a dream?)
but images flow
like a river of light
with past impressions
of many a day
and many dark nights,
including those
you forgot to remember,
(especially that time
from last September) .

It races ahead
to your living room door
(and your still wondering
if it plans
to be staying for more)
as it takes of its coat
and sits by the fire.
Then together you laugh
at all those desires,
and when it reaches the sofa,
slides into the book,
the one with the poems
you were reading before
you walked down the hall
and answered the door.