Keith Moul

Plural Loneliness

Through years, each day this mailman
(unpaid) lay wreathes at lovers’ feet--
sentimental offerings to pink,
washed feet, now past dancing.
 
For he never knew how to dance,
never sought that pleasure in whirls,
unless around romantic ideas of love,
not adept at happiness by force: he
was clever, true, but not so felicitous.
 
He had squandered early attempts at love:
over and over he could not achieve conclusion:
the loneliness (plural) of inadequate efforts,
the foul corruption of escaping gas, it seemed.
 
More aromas: all perfumed, stifled little sneezes.
 
There were engines stinking of fumes too
(pall overwhelmed the entire track),
the race was long, drivers rallied and fell back
as the winner glistened leading the pack.