My Old Friend Anger

   Like an old friend,
  Anger doesn’t knock;
       He just lets himself in.
  He has heard the news and he
            Comes to sympathize, and to offer
  Suggestions about what I should do.
            “Hit him!” he says.  “Kick, scratch,
          Bite ―― use weapons if you
   Have to!”  But I know  that he is
             Not my friend, just an enemy that
      Has a key.  I ask him to leave; he sits down.
    I tell him to go; he puts his feet up.
       Anger wore out his welcome long ago,
      But he still comes,
  Like a neighbor who can’t get the hint,
   He comes over with advice and adrenaline,
           Refusing to be ignored.
     Sometimes he stays for a few minutes.
         Sometimes he doesn’t leave for days, weeks.
  And sometimes, like today,
       He brings his scrapbook, and I know
  We will end up looking through it together,
       At the memories of mockery, pain,
  Misunderstanding, and hatred, him trying
               To provoke me into acting, me trying to
   Kick him out.  But every time I
     Tell him to leave, I am reminded 
  That you can’t be forceful with a houseguest
   Without Anger.