The Visit


The visit from my sister
looks like this:

Through the door,
here she comes.
Boots treading mud
into the new rug.
“It’s dry,”
she says,
“don’t worry,
it’ll be easy to clean.”
Clomp, clomp, clomp.
Suddenly the pedals
are spinning
than they have all week
on the new
exercise bike.
“It’s quieter than
the old one,”
she says,
barely breaking a sweat.
Clomp, clomp, clomp
into the kitchen.
She is there before
I realise
and out the door
a flick of her hand
her goodbye.
Crumbs on the counter,
I find a single bite
taken from the
cakes I made
A muddy footprint
by the fridge,
her parting gift.

Always brief, chaos left in her wake!  She is a whirlwind, but I love her.

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