Lonely Man, You Know Who I Am
I was cleaning out some drawers in my office, trying to provide a better example for our company’s slogan, “Advancing the Paperless Office.” I ran across “Lonely Man.” prose that I wrote for a Montel Williams poetry contest. This was some years ago when I had first heard about his challenges with MS, how I tried to relate to my sister Diane’s MS and then started a bikeMS team. I think it epitomizes how many of us feel from time to time. At the same time it pokes some fun at those same self-effacing feelings.
The most humorous aspect is that I had to submit the prose to a site called poetry.com. They sent me a letter, said they selected me for a “coffee table” edition of their next book and wanted me to spend $45.00 for a copy.
Can you believe someone would actually fall for something so ludicrous?! If you’re interested, I am selling the limited edition books for 1.99 on eBay!
Lonely man, you know who I am. You’re a labor of love, hand and glove. If you ever want the moon., you’ll need to bring your own silver spoon. Your drink is empty, nothing’s on the table,. Miguel your waiter, sells only by the label. So you dance to music that never ends and you toast bartender Mike, your new best friend. You’re anybody who has a story. You’re the blood and guts, but no glory. You’re the play that’s no longer afloat. You’re the poem, you never wrote.
Lonely man, you know who I am. You’re a labor of love, hand and glove. Johnny Cochran’s not your deal. You’ll never win on your appeal. You’re the crowd in every room. The conversation that always spells doom. You’re the fly that’s always unzipped, the greeting card that’s always skipped. You’ve become the sweat on everyone’s brow. You’re the answer to, “No, not now!” You’re the best friend you’ll never have. You’re the rub, without the salve.
Lonely man, you know who I am. Labor of love, fit hand and glove. Win the lottery prize in your office pool? What are the odds you’ve played the fool!
You’re someone’s smile, without a face. You’re the awkward in an embrace. You’re the gaze behind an empty stare. You’re the voice that isn’t there. You’re the cold pavement under bare feet. You’re the toothless grin that never eats. So when you dare ask for a slice of life, you’re the one to brandish a knife. And when your chapter is finally read, you already know what’s been said.
Your best friend,
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