NaPM April 20 2016

[bedeep]

Looking, Not Finding

Timothy (let's call him) sighs, puts on his shoes,
and with ears bleeding sadness he wanders
out into streets among yards and houses
seeking his kind.

Instead what he finds are lit windows
where everyone inside seems fit
and pleased with their moment,
their lives. Busy, clean,
worthy -- tiresome.

Somewhere someone is scraping
thrown food off the floor
after another's fit or their own,
somewhere someone bleeds into a cab on the way
to new misery or the same one,
somewhere someone wants to be dead
or soon will be. Timothy knows about this

but all that he sees
are those tidy lit windows
with such bright order inside
he can't even bear
to press his face to their barrier.

He can't even find
the small children of sorrow
who gather round with each other inside him,
repeating the stories they know
while they try one more time
to sing. Here comes the doctor,
here come the cops here it comes,
the end, the beginning.

One time a kind face
lit up for a moment but since no one
knew what that was, they threw stones
to make it become just like them.
So sorrowful Timothy carries them
blindly invisibly all alone
back home to bed.