There’s dust on the welcome mat
but the door stands ajar,
that awkward push-pull dynamic
as your people pleaser battles
(oh so politely)
with the introvert screaming at us
to fuck off.
The commentator on the telly
rolls out the old cliche
about it being a game of two halves,
and I gratefully accept a drink
while noting that the door remains ajar,
that I haven’t left yet.