A strange occurrence

I woke with a start in a fine fettled blink

Hearing the sound of a familiar clink

Plates from the washer tinkled away

I wondered to look, as I heard someone say

“There must be some food here, to eat today?”

Creeping downstairs plunger in hand

I saw the movement of a scruffy small man

Disheveled and wretched, unclean face

He shuffled about at a tinkering pace

The kitchen was tidy, not a thing out of speck

I thought to myself, ‘now what the heck?’

With sandwich in hand he opened the door

Shouting “Thanks for the food”

then I could see him no more

I opened the fridge to observe what had gone

Just some mouldy old cheese and an smelly onion

I thought ‘a strange occurrence’ without dismay

I eventually adjusted to the strange kind of fright

Then hoped he would return some other cold night

One evening I found him asleep in my shed

I closed the door quietly and crept back to bed.