Sinking In

Why is it you’re always surrounded
by people when loneliness creeps in?
A swath of unfamiliar faces and rehearsed rhetoric,
of niceties and offhand politeness, regurgitated
from one mouth to the next until it gurgles up
on your shoes as you hold open the door.

At bars the feeling creeps further,
where the regurgitation runs rampant
amidst smoke and bottles and quaint little cups,
in bathroom etiquette and barroom small talk
doled out in slurry words by blurry people
who really don’t give a shit.

But it never sinks in till the day is gone
and the faint glow is your last companion,
as you pound out your vain criticisms
on keys well worn by your many misgivings,
always in the small hours of the night,
always with tired eyes.

Wanting anyone, even a stranger.


KDH 10/06/09