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