At the End of the Day

At the end of the day,
No, really, I mean
At the end of the day.
You know,
That tortuous wrangling
Of dissatisfactions
Too strong to keep to
Yourself, makes you
Stay. 
I mean,

At the door, on the
Threshold of night time,
Befuddled, you look up
And say,
'I don't know...'
And wish you hadn't.

The ambiguity is unmistakable
Provocation.

It's like when you
Know it's over and
You keep telling yourself
It'll be alright.
You keep stum.
And turn to country walks
And fields for consolation.

You know the winding
Conversation will be fruitless,
Winding back upon itself.

Standing there in the
Doorway, with your glass,
And in your comfy slippers,
It would be better,
Infinitely so,
Just to say,
'Goodnight'.