The sky goes blue for a breath or two, the last lashings of sunlight stirred into the heap of smoke, heaven always holding out for someone better. The day is heat and habit, all the young folk loosed past the limits of their patience, as I hang around with the dregs and drags. The sun will set, and I will again be erased. I will be erased.
The day never loved me, the day never does. The night won’t abide me, too much left undone before the setting sun. The smoke sits thick inside the skin, dirty lungs and squandered heart, fire sale soul flickering behind dusty glass. Time is unkind to the ones that never fit, disowned by our life’s loves, cast askance over steel and stone. I’m the name left off the list. I’m the one that remains unclaimed.
No one’s calling back, no one’s looking up. This day burns down, the moon waiting in the wings. There’s nothing to be done. An old man with nothing to say and all the words in the world. The party already running riot next door, glasses sliding down my nose, long past the age of invitation. People tend to their children, their tomorrows thick with family and friends and all the reasons that they will. I sit on the porch, missing someone that hasn’t missed me in months. I sit here, no one saying a word.
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