Eerie.
No other word for it.
Never the sound of a human voice.
No WGUC music through the night,
no NPR during the day,
no QVC on the tube.
Instead AI klezmer music videos
and Apple TV horror shows.
To his credit,
the man sticks to
his preferred household rules.
Locks the door when he comes or goes.
Turns the lights off when he leaves the room.
Sets the A/C at a warmish 74.
Correctly separates trash from recycling.
Keeps his belongings in their assigned locations.
Never answers the scam calls
from Saylor Park or Dry Ridge.
He seems overjoyed to be in total charge,
thrilled with his newfound sense of order.
The man sleeps till noon,
warms up his lean cuisines in the microwave,
never uses the stove or the dishwasher.
With no one here to remind him,
he does forget certain things,
like taking out the garbage
or keeping the toilet seat down.
All in all, no adventure, lots of humdrum.
Sudoku, the computer, the Enquirer,
hateful ads about Amy Acton,
peanut butter and jelly.
Ten days have gone on, long enough.
The man and I both look forward
to my mistress’s return.
