By Michael Easton

Silver and white balloons
traveling over my head.
from a place
where people are laughing
and shaking hands.
Conducting themselves
in a proper fashion.
A wedding or a birthday, maybe.
Something that could be called
a function. Balloons,
from a place where they probably
wouldn't want someone like me.
A place where I'd start coughing
during speeches and introductions.
Not even be able to hold it
until they finished their talks
and began clapping.
Yes, balloons from a place
where people applaud one another.
But I'll just sit here on this bench,
in this place where I sat yesterday.
Alone with the thoughts
that get away, knowing only
that you don't need me anymore.