Turning Off The Gas Poem by Gina Teel

Man at my door in hard hat, jeans
Well worn clipboard under arm
A small death in my throat
I know what his presence means
No smile there, no stalwart charm
To him its daily rote
I have not paid the bill.

One more worry in my bin
To him I'm unpaid debt
I lower my head, disgraced
I am guilty of this sin
No, I simply did not forget
It's a crisis that I face
It is a bitter pill.

My children, behind me at the door
They wonder why he's here
Victims all the same
Casualties of this war
They only see a stranger there
And wonder why he came
By now I know the drill.

Illness reared it's ugly head
There is nothing I can do
Utilities cannot be paid
Noticing his face is red
His judgement's nothing new
I lie in the proverbial bed I made
He does not know I'm ill.

No hot baths for us tonight
Last week they took our van
My kids confused by loss each day
I have no means to set it right
Perhaps I never can
Keep the creditors at bay
My pockets never fill.

My heart breaks for the loss of it
The trust they place in me
This was not ever in the plan
Weakened body, soul broken bit by bit
Everything has a fee
Not personal, just business to the man
But our whole world stands still.