One ordinary Tuesday evening they knock.
You inspect the warrant but find no fault.
So in they come, not wiping their shoes.
Once you have served them both tea to
their exacting specifications, the little
one presses the back of your neck hard,
a secret switch you never discovered.
You are paralysed. Your heart stays steady.
Unable to move, you watch as they dismantle
your home, move all your furniture out,
leave an empty shell where your life
once proceeded in predictable ways.
With apologies and surprising gentleness
they fold you up like a winter coat
and stuff you into a musty wardrobe.
You listen to their receding footsteps
like rain ceasing. You wait in the dark,
occasionally nibbled by gentle moth teeth.
David Ralph Lewis is a poet and short story writer based in Bristol, UK. When not writing, he enjoys dancing badly at gigs and attempting to grow vegetables. His first chapbook, Our Voices in the Chaos, was published by Selcouth Station in October 2019. You can follow him at www.davidralphlewis.co.uk