Rob Plath

loiterer 

i have yet to love where i live 
almost 52 
& never been really home 
five decades of lostness 
the wine helped 
i looked thru dark red lenses 
& felt better 
but i was still a stranger 
w/ out a real home 
i often felt like i was loitering 
in my own room 
wherever it was 
as a boy i’d walk the streets 
looking in windows 
everyone else seemed home 
pushed in at brown tables 
reclining in green chairs 
standing at the sink 
holding up a yellow plate 
when i got older i’d gaze at paintings 
of cafes 
& the patrons seemed more 
at home than i ever was
i’d look in hotel lobbies 
in vestibules 
into plate glass windows 
full of beads of rain 
like i had a thousand eyes 
but nothing 
who put me here ? 
why? 
even my mother’s golden kitchen 
didn’t quite seem right 
all those rooms & people 
& walls & beams 
& doors 
& sinks 
yet no home 
tonight i cross my legs in this strange bed 
in this strange room 
on this strange avenue 
in this strange town 
& think the graveyards i stroll in feel more like home
the starlight feels more like home 
the bluebirds feel more like home 
& you, goddamn it, you, wherever the hell you are