One in a Set

At the counter

I, too, will sit
at the counter
or the bar table
which so often
is like a shelf
with every odd
book pulled out
with spaces meant for one
to fill in and continue
a long and comforting

but a table for two
with one chair empty
is only searching for
its missing mate
although people enter life in ones
and leave it that way



Waiting for hours
The prisoner of fears paces
Squeezed between walls and plastered posters
Meant to threaten and negate
All the beauty of the world drained into slogans
Monochrome beasts, fanged and sharpened
Any visitor speaks softly like a ghost
A trick of wind
The inmate cannot hear who entreats him
And the friend cannot see his walls