at the door.
i look through the peephole
to see
who it is.
Mormons?
girl scouts selling cookies?
my neighbor
wanting to borrow
a cup
of cold pressed olive
oil?
someone serving
me a subpoena again?
what is it this time?
it looks like a young woman
out there
she's holding a small child
in her arms,
this can't be good.
quickly i drop to the floor
and crawl
around turning off
the tv
and all the lights, but
she keeps knocking.
i know you're in there,
she says.
just open the door, it's
not your baby.
don't worry.
i wipe the sweat off my
brow
and open the door.
what?
how can i help you?
i'm new in the neighborhood
and we're starting
a morning playgroup
with all the other mothers,
and we were wondering if
any children live
here.
we'd love to have them join us.
i open
the door to show her my
living room.
beer cans everywhere,
pizza boxes,
fishing equipment
and hunting rifles.
there's a poster of Farah
Faucet in a red
bathing suit
on the far wall.
what do you think? i ask her.
oh my,
she says. sorry to bother you.
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