When I'm Not There
What does my flat do
When I'm out at work all day?
Does the sunlight filtering through the dust
Charm my cheap guitar to play?
What of the hallway, long and austere,
Does it play the coquette and laugh too loud
When I'm not here?
What about the carpets
When there's no-one walking around,
Surely they conspire with the floorboards
To make some kind of sound?
The plants stand still - or seem to -
Whenever they catch my eye,
But I bet they shake and rustle
As they hear my footsteps die...
Air, shadow, silence
Is it really like that for ten hours?
The distant slam of a door,
The gradual dying of flowers?
How does my flat stand the boredom
Of waiting till I reappear?
Can the world really get on without us
When we're simply