We Are All Bi-Polar
I stand on her porch,
knock, try the doorbell,
walk down the driveway,
check the back door,
jiggle the knob,
shield my eyes,
put my face to the glass,
peer inside.
Who looks back?
My reflection?
No, it's her.
She pretends not to see me,
hides in the furthest room
waits for me to leave.
What does she fear?
I'll sell her something?
I'm running for office?
My house is on fire and
I desperately need her?
It's like that--
outside myself,
trying to get back in.
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