Ode to a House Guest

I opened the door.You assumed itwas aninvitationto stay and eatand drink my wine.

A weekof revelry followed.It was unforgettable.I’ve never seen anyoneso horny for cheesein all my life.You glutton.I have to admitI admired the wayyou careened so recklesslyinto strings of mozzarellalike a Kamikazewith a deathwish.

You certainly have a tastefor theatrics,and for danger,and for drowning in poolsof pancake syrup left behind on plates.Et tu, muscus?When I pulled you outof my glass of merlotwith a forkI knewyou were eitherdrunk or dead,or had discoveredmy copy of Julius Caesar.

After a weekyou learned to hate leftoversas much as I do.Lost, in more ways than one,you grew wearyof buzzing around my headwhile I watchedThe Real Housewives of Las Vegas,(you’ll keep secrets)and while I dreamed about—well, nevermind.After dodging my handfor the hundredth time,you gave up the dreamdeciding:Enough Is Enough .

You searched—frantically, I might add,for an EXIT.Since you are pin-headed,you tried everything:the skylight,the fireplace,even the washing machine,but you do not recognizean open doorwhen it is staring you inthe antennae.Yet now,here you are—ohsocloseto Freedom.

All you have to do is give in—sense the light of dayand the heat of summer.Will you? I wonder,watching you danceunknowing along the doorframe,jumping—

hopefully, cautiously,on your way, to the outside—