The Poetry Club

They’re all chatting.

They’ve forgotten your there.

The conversation moves on

but you don’t know where.

Sat right in the middle.

You just have to stare,

straight ahead biting back tears,

of it not being fair.

The rooms full of loved ones, and yet it’s still.

A lonely space when you cannot share.

So slowly ever so slowly you withdraw back.

Back to isolations solitary lair.

By Janet Bosson