Invisible

There she stood in the rain.
No umbrella, boots or coat.
Just a long lonely gaze out to sea.

How was it I could see her
But she obviously
Couldn’t see me?

I called out.
I cried out.
I waved a frantic wave.

Yet her gaze never faltered.
Her head never turned.
I didn’t know if I should go or stay.

Did she want her privacy?
Or did she need a friend?
No answer came so I bid her farewell.

The rain turned to storm.
So I looked for someplace warm.
I saw a pub not far from the jail.

I parked in front and ran inside.
There was a bartender reading.
So I sat down on a stool nearby.

How was it I could see him
But he obviously
Couldn’t see me?

I called out.
I cried out.
I waved my hands frantically.

Yet he kept on reading.
He never looked up.
I didn’t know if I should go or stay.

I tried to grab his hand and shake it.
Yet it stuck to the newspaper like glue.
Then I saw the headline and I knew.

I wasn’t simply invisible.

© Phyllis Weeks Rogers 3/13/2018

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4 Comments

  1. This is an important poem, Phyllis. Moving, tension building throughout, and a searching question in the conclusion, leaving much to be considered. You delicately, quietly, drop in words like ‘jail’ and ‘headline’ which broaden the whole story into a deeply dramatic one, leaving a taste to know more. But the conjecture which you suggest rather than explain is beautifully presented in your poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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