Isolated

Isolated Nearly midnighton Saturday morning.It doesn’t feel like one of thosespecial MarchesI seem to see every few yearsjust stasis.The first two beers (bocks) went down quicklywith the couple dozen wings I nearly polished offalonewhile I leaned on my couch watching Cold Case.Tonight, my children are nine houses awayAnd Ifeel separate from the world again,removed from time and place. My mouth feels dirtylike I ate spoiled chicken,the worst kind. I received an unusual letterfrom one of my seminary teachers,some students might be kicked outif they didn’t send their transcripts.I find that disturbing,but feel disconnected. See, I want to feel connected,nay be connectedbut walked away from that,another bock, please. For me,there is neither heroism nor tragedyI simplyexist.