Assay
       

Having learned to observe,
From time to time he turned
His attention to his own
Thoughts and words and deeds.
Finding them wanting, so much
Fainter than hibiscus or alyssum,
Clothes on the line, that neighbor's dog,
Barking incessantly. Guys loading
A truck seemed more real for lack
Of glamour, grit more robust
Than glitter, though he noted,
Sadly, he would miss neither.
Could it be he was losing interest
In being? Not exactly. Only so much
Had grown so familiar, adding up
To so little. His sins and virtues
Alike seemed a poor player's
Hackneyed posturing, a sad drunk
In a cheap bar. Hard to imagine
Being less for want of that.

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Copyright © 2012 Frank Wilson All rights reserved
from Boulevard
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission