SUNDAY NEUROSIS
On all those lonely
Sunday afternoons
when everyone who
has someone is walking
in the warmth of the sun—
only the lonely stay home
sucked into the black
sinkhole of ennui.
With nothing to do
and no place to go
he wonders if he matters
to anybody as he reaches
foe a six-pack of Buds
venting his spleen on
the brutality of football.