The Door Poem by Jackie Allen

He was standing out there, holding
his hat in his weathered hands,
No smile could I see.
The door behind which I stood,
was locked, though I could see him
through the peep-hole.

As he knocked, I took pity
on the night’s ghastly apparition.
Yet, neither did he enter nor did he leave
when, opened I, the door.

I bade him welcome,
and told him to come on in.

He just stood there,
not making even one sound.
Or, did I just imagine that?
He just stood there,
The night was dark and erie,
It gave me such a fright!

And then, despite chilling me
to the depths
of my being,
the candle... it flickered.

It shook the cobwebs
out of my most troubled head.

An account of all of this
was in the morning papers.
And as I read I wondered,
ought I not to try find
other ways of exorcising
what’s inside my poetic head?