poetry

alone

he stands above the sink
and drums dumb thumbs
into the plastic pebbles
of his mobile

it is 10pm the cats are
nestled like miniature kettles
on the couch

he looks at the warm foam
floating in the sink
he ate
two burgers
tonight
gnawed at them
with intent

he leans over the sink
and washes
the grazed faces
dirty smiles

a claw of ketchup
curls over a finger
like a savage comma
reminds him
only the lonely have scars

only the lonely
ones dream
of days flaking
off the skin
like old food
thin memories
melt between bubbles
and beermugs

he exhales
sighs attempts
to muffle
nodules of tears
which swirl
chatter crumble
scrap and gurgle
into the plughole

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