Knock, Knock, Go Away!

Last night, eleven-thirty, late,

Decent folks have gone to bed.

I being decent once in awhile

Joined the slumbering masses.

A knock on my apartment door.

Late, eleven-thirty, and I knew

Who it was at this ungodly hour.

The young man down the hall of

Our building wanted to bum a cig-

arette from me. What in hell could

He be thinking? Certainly not of me

And my sleep, but only of his own

Want and need. I had nearly a full

Pack of weeds lying on the table.

And at eleven-thirty in the evening,

I am in bed and not feeling the least

Bit compassionately warm and fuzzy.

So he left empty-handed at such an

Ungodly hour back to his own apart-

ment smokeless and ungratified with

Only his inconsiderate want and ha-

bitual need. My own addiction is bad

Enough, but his brings out the pure-

bred indecency in me. Besides, I'm

Sixty-eight years old and I hit the

Hay early. Should the building be

On fire at eleven-thirty in the P.M.

Don't you even dare bother knock-

ing on my door. I’m old and cantan-

kerous; I need my sleep.

Chris Hanch  7-9-15