In The Absence

What should I have said at work this
          morning while all flexed and jostled in
                   anticipation, remembering  

service and sacrifice, making
         imaginary comparisons, measuring the
                    level to which each is owed,

especially those who buried
          the evidence, passed the
                    authorities on to the next  

department, foot on the rug
         concealing the hole in the
                    floor, its covert contents  

smuggled in for the few at
         personal risk. This evening,
                    I leave cans of food on the porch  

for the Mail Carrier Hunger
          Drive, the couple next door
                    at it again, fulfilling all the  

predictions except for the baby.
           Each day I rejoice in the
                     absence of little eyes and ears,  

the lack of pitter patter
          running away in fear.  I give
                      thanks I’m not the weak end of  

the teeter totter, high and
          dry, too light to matter,
                       unable to come down.