My habitat is hidden from the street.
I bought it for its perfect privacy
amid a zone hospitable to feet,
where I can hunker, carless, and be free
from anybody dropping by. My door
is locked and I don’t want to be surprised.
I’ve learned I need my bath and bedroom more
than your companionship. I’ve analyzed
our history. Perhaps I could have made
the marriage work if I had had my space.
But I don’t want to try. I wouldn’t trade
my state, and I protest when you assume
because I turn the lock my heart is closed.
I’m out 4 days a week! I get exposed.