Lonely’s Escape Route

He and his cat
sit upon upturned suitcases
peering vacantly out the ocean house window.

They stare together.

As the reflections press back
cloning the vacuum of isolation,
the bookshelves behind them remain empty.

Kitchen cabinets,
Empty.

Their stomachs
Empty

Their hearts
Near 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 them.

Perched on the window sill,
a beetle—a rather large beetle
eying the storm,
eying the cat.

Soon…

Night's cover
will erase the perceptions
returning the man’s mirrored picture
in the dark cell in his mind,
that place where bars are unseen,
except when reflection brings them to life.

Today…

Weathering choruses precede the night.
Their largo-like rain quickly turning to flurries
into an adagio of carpeting flakes,
ricocheting images transposing memories of what once was,
feeding his soul-empty hunger pangs into replication.

Ice crystal flakes and laughter salad.

Alarm clock soup.

Plucked innocence under glass.

XXX soufflé of self-loathing 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 beetle,
the testimony of nature's perseverance,
one of Time's eldest statesman,
remains stoic,
anticipating the next century…

Cat willing.

And the man?

His feline?

Because mirrors know not lying,
being no longer a member of the 1% club isn't so bad.
He is learning the power of imagination for company,
the quintessential escape route to riches of another kind.