Uninspired,
No desire,
Neither one to me required,
Why I sit here levelly,
Eyes feel heavy,
Tired me.
Found a quiet spot alone,
Makes me want to cry.
Reminds me of hot lemon baths
And plain white butterflies dancing by.
No one here to expect from me,
An answer
or a smile.
Just me here.

Me by myself here,
I ignore the fact of the passerby.
Cold brown stucco beneath me
Hot sticky air around,
A cup of herbal fancy tea,
And my soft synthetic purse.
But uninspired
I wonder:
Why no desire?
These people walking,
Some of them smile.
I quell my fear,
And look for someone to hear,
But I realize
I must look so alone.

© 2000 by Mary Elizabeth Otte

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