Reflection Pangs
by Odin Roark

He and his cat
sit upon well-used table and bench
peering vacantly out their trailer-house window,
their northwest terrain becoming cold.

They stare together
as the reflections press back,
cloning the vacuum of another day
of lonely isolation.

The bookshelves behind him,
Empty.
Kitchen cabinets,
Empty.
His stomach,
Empty.
His heart,
Empty.

Beyond the window,
high to the right,
encroaching weather gathers,
while to the left,
escaping sun hovers below cloud cover,
resting a few moments longer upon the horizon.

Another guest joins him.

Perched on the windowsill,
a roach.
A rather large roach,
eying the storm,
eying the cat.

Soon…

Night's shroud
will erase the perceptions,
returning his mirrored picture,
his room's embrace
to but a dark cell in his mind
where bars are ever present,
except when reflection erases them.

Today…

Weathering choruses precede the night,
its rain quickly turning to flurries,
quickly becoming carpeting flakes,
reflections transposing to memories of what once was,
feeding the barren cupboard of his heart’s hunger.

Ice crystal flakes and laughter salad,
alarm clock soup,
plucked innocence under glass,
XXX soufflé of web loneliness,
fricassee of conscience forever steaming hot,
wine of repentance
patiently breathing,
readying absolution
for some worthy day.

Without warning,
a smile envelops his stare,
waiting out the sun sinking into slumber,
the tenacious roach,
a testimony of nature's perseverance,
Time's eldest statesman,
remains stoic,
anticipating the next century,
cat willing.

And he…his feline?

Actually, their Spartan life isn’t so bad.
They’ve learned a plate of imagination
usually goes a long way.