Loneliness is a Queue
Amongst a trail of slumped shoulders
I stand for the first time in years.
Stigma stifles the tiny building,
sagging with neglect;
the intimacies of private struggles
boom from hatch to tiny hatch.
We are many,
huddled in this room closing in.
flash warnings and accusations;
invite the voice behind the glass
to join the torment in your head.
Next! catches the weight in your chest.
A weary carcass shuffles
to a vacant hatch,
an acre of loneliness
in every step.
I am Dublin born and I live in county Kildare. I am 55 years old and I write about the political, the social, the personal, life’s irritants and things that just strike me as being funny – even if I’m the only one to be amused!