My body is a revolving door
The procession relentlessly comes and goes
Without a glance my way

There is no doorman
If there were I would be ashamed
To whisper in his ear

“Don’t let them in”
The incessant coming and going
Continues and I can’t persuade them

They’ll all have to see for themselves
“I’m uninhabitable,” I want to warn them,
“I haven’t been open in years”