without you

someone
just like you
finds your wallet
on the street.
your keys too.
when you go home
that night he is
in your favorite
chair eating
a sandwich,
the dog is at his
feet, sleeping.
your wife is on
the couch
reading a magazine
and your kids
are on the floor
playing a game.
the door is locked
so you peer
through the window,
standing in
the bushes that you
pruned last weekend.
you press your face
against a cool pane,
looking in,
they seem so happy,
your family,
without you.