The bell plays its major
third descending and
I can hear him sobbing
when I pad down the hallway.
His face is twisted, splayed
by the glass whorls in the door
I open:
The face isn't too different.
He clutches a grey package
the plastic is coming away
but I cannot see inside
“I’m truly
so very sorry”
he speaks from his creases,
I frown - rather dramatic
for a plain-clothed postman.
He hands me his unbearable
gift and stands there
I thank him and close the door
Tearing at the small hole
in the brown plastic
I see this was never meant for me
my eyes are a little irritated
and my breathing is a little heavy
I open the door and he is gone
I head
across the road
concrete cold beneath
my barefoot
to the door
of my neighbour
inhale the winter
and now I must
knock
