Talk

They come in
The night to talk
Show you their wounds
Months years decades after
Their death just lonely or
Perhaps to console or
Maybe just chatty
I talk with them
In the middle
Of the night
My eyes
Shed
Tears of
Remembrance
Of affection and
Then they are
Gone for a
Bit I’m
Always glad
To talk with them.
Only, sometimes
It overwhelms
Me waking
Upsets
Lunch
Companions
Makes a waitress
Nervous wondering.