Awaiting the rest of the party of 5 at Bryant and Cooper

The solitary light
Shining its one eye
Upon my fingers
Shadows looming
Alone
With the vacant
Wooden seats
Old and middle-aged
Business –types
Carouse at the bar
Suits aplenty
No sign of the familiar

Their conversations
Seep superficial bullshit
Tumblers in hand
Floating limes
Amid the rocky glasses
Sipping
Blue fingers
Gently caress the edges
Of drinks

Watching the door
Only after hearing
The breath of outside
Squeak into the airlock
The cool air
Kissing my cheeks
Slowly dropping back
Outdoors
Until the portal once again
Opens

Lost –
So it appears
Although not only
Solitary writer
Others drift
Like wind toward
The lighted doorway
Each in waiting
For the rest of their party
Alighted and desiring relief
From the emptiness
Of no one

Pacing or sitting
Stools or warm leather chairs
Tricked
Suddenly jarred
By memory
Thinking of the last time
Awake 2 am
At the donut eatery
Within view
The thought dead
As is the person
Who lived within it
Other young lives
Uneasy skating
In purgatory

More suits
About 20 by now
Drowning in a sea
Of grays, browns, and navy blues
Discontent – rather irked
Everyone else is always tardy
Opposed to perpetually early
Beyond on time

-Starr Sackstein