Being Alone

Being Alone

The kettle sings to an empty room

Chairs don’t get used, there’s too much gloom

The phone stays still, the door stays closed

And silence settles, all around my home.

I make two cups, then pour one down

Old habits cling in this too quiet home.

The telly on it speaks, but not to me

Just noise and faces I barely see

I talk out loud to no one there

I say goodnight to empty air

The post comes late, then not at all

No footsteps echo down the hall

I smile at folks who look right through

Like I’m a ghost they never knew

I wave, they nod, then walk away

Another heavy, wordless day

But still I rise, still sweep the floor

Still check the lock on every door

Still set a place I never use

And wear my best, though what’s the use.