There was a time when
anyone who said “let’s go”
had an immediate companion
in me. 

I’d be ready at once.
I’d drive or buy the tickets. 
I’d hold the door as we glided out,
a company of foolhardy beings,
into the mysteries of the world.

Truth is, even then I knew
I did not belong among them.
I was raised instead

to sit by the window
in a hard chair on a sore ass,
armored against the rude world’s intrusion,
snubbing it when it approached,

but I kept standing up befuddled
when they came for me
and bewildered I would walk to the door
and swagger out among those 
urging me to join in and 
I would although
I’d be terrified the whole time.

Now I stay home
pretending I am still counted among
those ragged, brave ones,
knowing I never truly was
cut out for all that danger,

and when it knocks now
I hide behind the curtains and say,
“Shhh…go away…”
and am proud of myself

for ten whole minutes
after the knocking stops

after which I curse myself
and begin, once again, 
to die.