Rod Raglin, Stranger at a Bus Stop
10November
Robert L. Penick
Loneliness lives
in my shirt pocket
with my pens, a list
of things to do,
and a radar image
of incoming rain.
It keeps to itself,
except for nights
when the walls
call it out.
Then it perches
on my shoulder,
atop my head or
crawls the ceiling,
black as a roach.
It is my right arm,
my eyes, my heart.
It changes at will.
I would not be
the same human
without this sad
parasite.
Robert L. Penick
Loneliness lives
in my shirt pocket
with my pens, a list
of things to do,
and a radar image
of incoming rain.
It keeps to itself,
except for nights
when the walls
call it out.
Then it perches
on my shoulder,
atop my head or
crawls the ceiling,
black as a roach.
It is my right arm,
my eyes, my heart.
It changes at will.
I would not be
the same human
without this sad
parasite.