sorrow doesn't knock

she just lets herself in

and throws down her bags

on the guest room bed

and then picks and unpacks

like a tandem parade

and puts her knick-knacks

high on handsome display

then she sits at the kitchen

and asks to be fed

and not if you had

other plans instead

and she mandates attention

all evening long

but snubs when you mention

you work at dawn

like a mother she hints

with laughter at flaws

as she points out the dints

in the rafters and walls

and she finds every fault

from highest to low

and says,

 "Boy have you really

  let yourself go."

but it's just my cyclical fate

to slip through fickle states

sometimes the goodness stays

sometimes I sleep for days

when I awake, she's gone,

without a note

though she always leaves,

what if one day

she won't?