man at the door

on a rainy monday,
the doorbell
startles you.
carefully you dog
ear the book
you are reading
and set it down.
like henry james
it takes you
a long time
to finally cross
the room and peek
out. it's no one
you know.
a stranger with
a black bag.
he rings the door
bell again.
he's wearing a grey
raincoat and a hat
like your father used
to wear. his eyebrows
are long and dark,
his lips are pursed
as he looks at
his watch, pushing
back the wet sleeves
of his coat.
he stamps the water
from his shoes
and rings the bell
a third time.
but you are in no
need for bad news.
or good news for that
matter. so you go
back to your book
and let him leave.