PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They turn up with that familiar brightness,

the kind that looks friendly

but never settles long enough

to feel like anything earned.

Your doorway shifts into a kind of foyer,

your patience doing the work

of a keypad they’ve learned by heart.

Whatever history you share

shrinks to a handful of withdrawals.

They press their needs

as though you were built for this,

as though your hours were a slot

that might release an answer

if they stand there long enough.

No shared time,

nothing grown together—

just the quick visit,

the tidy greeting,

the quiet exit once their hands are full.

So you mix what you can,

citrus sharp on your wrists,

a jug prepared out of habit.

You keep the sweetness aside,

choosing not to add it,

knowing they wouldn’t notice

what never made it in.

They drink with easy praise,

already half‑turned,

off to whatever comes next,

never offering anything back,

never staying long enough

to understand the cost.

Still, you keep the stand open,

not for them,

but for the rare one

who arrives without demands,

brings their own fruit,

their own time,

and stays beside you long enough

to make something worth sharing.

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