You are resident. I am distant.
This time I stand outside the door
and it’s for you to make your mind up,
to say the truly final word.
I wonder what would happen if
I poured myself a glass of water,
used the bathroom without asking.
Do you think I am now so alien
I have no idea which doors
lead to the kitchen, or to the hall –
which doors we must never use at all?
Remember me carefully, then:
though your doors are closed to me now,
I know exactly what’s behind them.