Familiar Strangers Poem by Jojoba Mansell

Glasses full, they gaze,
not focussed, a thousand yard stare.
Twisting in their seats,
squirming under the intimacy,
awkwardness oozes from their pores.
A sip from glasses almost full,
attempting to quench the arid wordlessness.
The unsaid screaming volumes,
the few words offered offering nothing.
Hands almost reaching out,
recoiling from invisible pains.
They're sorry, or as sorry as an approximation gets.
Glasses half full, they drift,
eyes seeking refuge, the clock, the waiter,
a window onto a street, into a world alone.
Pleasantries swapped for expectations sake.
They didn't know… if things were different,
hollow words, dead as this husk of a relationship.
Maybe if… well we tried,
exchanges trying to soothe mutual pains.
But looking at them, watching, there's no pain,
not pain…just that dull void.
A place where there should be feeling,
but…no, an abyss, comforting in its enormity.
Glasses empty, they stand to leave,
twisted smiles, lying contortions saying it's ok,
whispering it's not.
Thoughts of fear of loneliness, dreams of freedom,
cascade across faces, written in tired eyes, creasing brows.
A hugging farewell, tender as icebergs colliding,
no connection or depth, but a nod to courtesy.
Familiar strangers, unbound, adrift, alone,
freed, cast away, sorrowful, hopeful.
The glasses are cleared, the table wiped clean.