I sat alone
At home on
My couch when
I heard it
Knock, knock, knock
No one stood
At the door
It meant something
I had forgotten
So I searched
Three knocks meant
A bad omen
Someone will die
You hear stories
But never think
All of it
Could be real
Six weeks later
My roommate’s mother
Passed away in
A hospital bed
From the poetry collection Cats, Coffee, Catharsis.
James Pack 