Poem-A-Day: Day 300

He Stood There

He stood there,
oafishly,
and I stared through him
with cold eyes gone obsidian
from the heat of stress,
blood vessel lava streaming
through what’s left of the whites.
He stood there,
waiting for an answer,
a response,
anything to satisfy his curious nature,
and I thought of the wreck that’s become.
The ships dashing bows to pieces
on fist shaped rocks jutting from air oceans,
filth cover landscapes barren,
gone uninhabitable except for humanity:
the last worst thing to have graced it,
and the remnants of one man in slacks,
waiting idly for some grim repose.
He stood there,
expecting acknowledgment,
and I turned and walked away,
quitting what was left of my past.