Out Poem by Matthew Roeser

I feel out

out
among the summer fireflies
that no longer fly in Philly
or even care that they are no longer flying

out
in stone sole less shoes
slapping against cold gray slabs
running always alarmingly away

out
amidst the soggy veterans
stuck marching in ricochet gear
so distracted while we goose the throttle with everything she's got

out
in the boney backyard
staring toward soft 60 watt glow
your face framed in glass sainted, beatific, reverential

out
even when crowded in subway sausage thick
buttons popping with smooth casual allure
soft hands floating in silken air

out
with your tangled black haired irises staring
less at last we meet
and know too much for tears