I’d open the front door but it was never

long before they’d troop out the back.

Get lost in the wastes among bins and

stray cats, gulls. So I thought I’d latch

the back door, but I must’ve forgot

or someone picked the lock. I came

in from the kitchen with snacks to find

myself alone again. I tried calling,

hunted among the black plastic trash,

got badly scratched by a cat, flapped

at by gulls. These days I guard the front,

not the back. I keep my door on a chain,

let very few in. And if they want to leave

they can go the way they came.

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