Words always return to the scene of the crime.
They have a legitimate point of view.
And I have mine.
You have to be patient, because speech is shy,
won’t come if you’re noisy,
or keep asking why.
I use my silence as a khaki hide
to flush out the wildlife.
I make tea inside,
have a textbook wish-list, hope for the rare
so I can tick it,
prove it was there.
Sometimes I catch the glint of an eye
in my binoculars –
in here, with me.
What is this presence that dares give chase
and me, a doctor?
My most dangerous case.