We outstay our welcome
breathless expostulations
dimming slowly
to sighs.
Below, the sprouts peer skyward
muttering down a spectrum
of discreet to brazen —
is this shade or darkness?
protection or obstruction?
Lacking the means and the imagination to depart (for where exactly?)
we stay and simmer
old cooking smells lingering in a cold kitchen
long since the banquet’s end.
Perhaps another day or month or year!
Do not go gently!
But why?
and who decides when it is time.
Always there are more tasks
and more todos
more stories
and more dreams.
And oh please
how shall we relinquish them
once we outstay our welcome.