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Poem

The Loner goes on
Imagining friends
He heads for a coffee
With hopes to an end
 
He looks at the counter
Then raises his head
And wonders why
All his looks are of dead
 
He picks at his pocket
Not sure what’s inside
Hoping it’s nothing
Wanting outside
 
He tugs at his money
Begrudging his efforts
He isn’t that hungry
Or thirsty; sequester
 
He stands tall and proud
Cupping his coins
He can’t wait for long
And sitting is wrong

He finally orders
As he’s given the nod
He’s happy to see it
As friends or facade
 
He waits
He looks around
Then he relaxes
And feels the ground
 
Approaching is coffee
Nestled by hand
Why won’t it come faster
He can’t understand
 
He pays over time
Not wanting an end
He knows he must turn;
a table to ‘fend
 
He looks for an opening
A table that’s free
Seeing so many
Does not feel like glee

He finally chooses to sit by himself
For sitting with others
Is rude and...
Not stealth
 
How has he gotten here
He asks himself
Retracing his journey
As small as an elf
 
He looks for a friend
Then down to his coffee
And sees his mug lifting
His eyes feeling lofty
 
He knows he must go
And can’t say goodbye
He leaves very slowly
Feeling his sigh
 
He’s walking straight home
And can’t hear a thing
Even his finger
Goes without a ring

He finally gets home
And loves what he sees
Knows what he has
And feels that he’s free
 
He thinks of the coffee
And says he’ll go back
But the next time he goes
He’s switching to tea
 
The Loner goes on
Switching to tea
Coffee's not important
As the quest for friends must be

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