They come in pairs, knocking and smiling,
trying not to wince when you open the door,
trying not to know there’s the screaming just beyond,
trying not to hear the harsh words shouted behind the door,
trying not to know that sound of palm against cheek,
trying not to cringe when you invite them in
trying not to crawl out of their skin
as they hand you a pamphlet,
invite you to join them,
shake hands,
turn,
go.