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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Don’t Even Talk to Me About Loneliness

 

Why would a middle-aged divorced man

with more new wrinkles around his eyes

than phone calls from his sons, roll out of bed

without hitting snooze every Monday through

Friday, brush his teeth, slap on the Old Spice,

squirm into clothes that are never more than three days

beyond fresh, bend all the way over his portly middle

to lace-up his boots, zip his jacket to the very top,

scrape the windshield of his primer-gray Pinto,

shiver during the defrosting of its inside, curse

every red light as he squints his way through town,

and wait his turn behind two pickup trucks and a mini-van

just so he can order a 20-ounce coffee with one Splenda

from the curvy young barista who twists her blonde curls

and smiles whenever he drives up to the window? Because

it beats the hell out of waiting all day long for the junk mail.

 

                 —Danny Earl Simmons