I sense the unspoken questions
1. Where have you been?
2. What time do you call this?
I feel the need to explain myself.
To show what I've been through.
You look as though you've been dragged through a hedge.
As a matter of fact, I say,
removing a twig from my hair...
But all I get is the cold and cruel stare.
So stuff that!
I go into the next room
and photograph the cat.
I write a poem.
Business as usual.
Whatever gets you through the night