My Neighbors Are Coming Back from Bingo

My neighbors are coming back from Bingo.
They're in the hall. Their loud and friendly talk
solaces me, and makes me feel at home
in this two-room flat where I've laid my head
for nearly seven years. 

                                      "Good night, Margaret!"

"OK, see ya tomorrow!"

                                          What's up with this weather,
if I may change the subject? February
is putting on a show of spring and melting
the black snow that has grunged up Arlington’s
curbs and walkways for longer than a week.
Earlier tonight I looked up at the sky
and saw old pal Orion, our constellation.
I say it like “our song.” But is there “us"?

Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2022-10-10 at 02:09

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I think this poem engenders the feeling that the protagonist is comfortable 'at home'. And it is done in several ways through the writing, ending - looking outwards - with the age old question about our uniqueness as a species in the Universe. That is quite a journey in so few cleverly written words. I like to think that we are not in fact 'alone' - though when thinking along those lines I nearly always end up asking why 'they' don't help. Maybe they aren't allowed?

arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Is there? Indeed, that crisscrosses the fabric of our social interactions, some of us less than others. Each one connected uniquely at varied levels of strength.