Thanks To The Plague Poem by Doug Lane

I now know
what loneliness
is.

Up at 4 AM
alone in the house
lonely

with no idea
how to
fill the hours

till the
sun comes up
lonely.

Robinson Crusoe
without Friday
lonely.

Trump
surrounded by people
who pretend to be his friends

but hate him
so much
they won't even tell him

when he has
t.p. on his shoe
lonely.

The last man
on Earth
after the atomic war

lonely.

Don't even
think about
reaching out

and touching somebody
lonely.
Because if I did

I'd discover
I've gone so long
without talking to anyone

I've forgotten
my mother tongue
lonely.

Far too lonely
to admit I'm lonely
lonely.

So lonely
I think
the talking heads

on my flat screen
know me
by name

and come to visit me
when I turn on the set
because

they feel sorry
for me.
So lonely

I don't recognize myself
in the mirror
when I shave

and I'm too shy
to ask the guy
in the mirror

who he is
and what the hell
he thinks he's doing

in my bathroom.
So lonely
I don't think

I can bear the responsibility
of caring
for my cat.

And my cat
has been dead
for three years.

So lonely
my tongue
feels like an alien

reptile
which has slithered
into my mouth

and is no longer
taking orders
from me.

So lonely
when I say hello
to my brain

it snubs me
and pretends
it can't

hear me.
Nor will it wave back
when I wave.

I'm
the ants in the sink
are my only friends

lonely.
I'm
I miss the black widow

I sprayed
with Black Flag
lonely.

I remember
an earlier life
when I used to

live with people
and talk to people
and I

wonder who the hell
that social butterfly was
and how his memories

got implanted
in my
brain.

And if my brain
ever does
deign to talk to me

I'll ignore it
and pretend
I can't hear it

and I don't know
who
it is.

I'm so lonely
I'm suspicious
of anyone

willing to converse
with me
and wonder

what's wrong with him,
why is he
talking to me.

I live in a land
which has been ravaged
by a plague

of loneliness
which has killed
everyone but me

and which has killed
my ability
to socialize

even if
somebody else
has survived

the plague
and is dying
to hang out with me.

I would ignore
that poor soul
even if she were

dying of loneliness,
even if I were
dying of loneliness,

which I am,
and yet
my loneliness

is the only thing
keeping me company,
keeping me alive,

and I embrace it,
my only companion,
gratefully and tenderly,

and tell it
I would be
nothing

without it,
and every night
I look forward

to going to bed
with it
and holding it.

I'm a dog
rolling joyfully
in a stinking carcass.

I relish
my
loneliness.

I dread the day
the vaccine will come
and put my loneliness,

my beloved,
to the
hypo.

I'm hoping
that even post vaccine
mankind

will remain
an archipelago,
a hodge podge,

of billions of islands (surrounded by big water)
unable to reach out
to one another

even if
they
wanted to.

The way I see it
the plague
has made us all

autistic.
Permanently cut off
from one another

with no idea
how to turn on
that warmth

which once
connected us,
melted us,

welded us,
together.