Across the Way
Seven half-naked men gather around the table
For a meal that is to me only foreign
They speak in tones of joy
Tones nearly obscure to my ears
But oh, so near
My eyes avert from my glance
Picking up a dish from the sink
I scrub the grime away
The laughter grows in a masculine crescendo
And the tone is nourished into vibrancy
My curiosity is but a dull pan
Awaiting a wash and rinse
Stuck into the sticky filth of envy
I envy the joyous expression
Yet I welcome insipid depression
Happiness and content so far from me
But merely. . .across the way
No embarrassment of their exteriors
By far their lives feel superior
The language they speak is nothing to me
But tones and emotion I can never reach
Oh, how far you are
The motivation; the nourished vibrancy
From me you are clean
As the guck collects within
Somehow I cannot hide from the light of their words
The distant, alien joy
My sense of inner unity is so coy
Compared to these gathered strangers—my neighbors
The brotherhood—that I can only discreetly witness
I can only pick myself up
Like this lonely, dirty cup
And glance at the seven half-naked men
Across the way
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