Linoleum Floor

locks clicking in the bureau drawer

as the master puts his pens away

locks clicking on the bureau drawer

as he cleans his nibs and oils the wood

locks clicking on the bureau drawer

as he picks up the briefcase and goes

sounds are clicking in the bureau’s seams

rustling under the clicking locks

fingers are pulling on the wooden knots

opening doors are winding clocks

eyes are peering out the bureau drawer

as we look closer, the desk is a house

I was in the house when the locks were shut

my eyes turned out to the moon

the windows snapped closed with an eight-foot CLAP

and I slept in a chair in my room

I woke with a CRACK and put up my hands

hiding my ears, fearing even more

the CRACK was followed by several TAP TAPs

and I turned to look out the door

the glass in my hands is an oval trap

misting my eyes to the man

the raccoon looks in with smile and says

“can’t you come and lend one a hand?”

but the bureau is locked and my hand to the glass

the smell of burning cookies wafts

to a creature who’s smile is now a flare

of an anger that singes the glass

where were you on christmas when I opened the door

where were you when the stars came over the floor

where where you when I opened the red paper to find

that the box contained naught but a door?

I wanted you to come but when I looked out

I saw just myself and I turned about

I wanted to say to you that I knew

that this Christmas things could never be new

and you said nothing but drifted away

from the oval glass on the floor

and yet every Christmas Eve must find me here

waiting on the linoleum floor