a poet

by Justin Hyde

is not
an actual human being.

he is a grotesque
anchored
at the periphery

only existing
to watch and analyze
actual human beings.

he knows this

carries it around inside him
like a graveyard
sitting at PD's pub
seven in the morning
with a handful of women
off third shift
from the firestone plant.

they're laughing like hyenas
telling a story
about the retarded janitor
who got down on one knee
in the break-room
and proposed to the hr manager
with a
hundred dollar ring from wal-mart.

he laughs along with them
but only because he knows
he should be laughing.

his body is amongst them
but his mind stands at a distance
cataloging it all.

their laughter is perfect

like blue velvets
like a bowl of cold cherries
or a symphony.

he envies
their laughter

their lives
in perfect motion
without thought.

.