For the next two years they infested the place like ants
turning up wherever
finding a place underneath our boots and withering glares
we talked to them as though they were incapable of response
in exasperated and hushed tones.
Asking things like
“Where are you coming from?”
“Why won’t you just leave?”
they would smile amiably enough
and without response go back to whatever it was
they had been doing.
tearing apart magazines
resting with their heals on top of their shoes
like this was the one place
they might consider a living room.
From time to time we found the man bathing in the restroom
taking a bar of soap and using paper towel to scrub.
he never took off his shirt or became inappropriate
His comfort level
their comfort level with us
was becoming unsettling enough.