There’s a storm behind my eyelids
Threatening to pour,
But I wear a smile like a cement roof
Sheltering those closest from my rain
While tables and chairs
In this rickety house
Are worn by all of the dust
Of visitors who were never let in.
There is one who sits by the entrance
Waiting for an intruder
To kick down the door
As tears collect on the hardwood floor
And the closet broom feels
A thousand miles away.