The Physics of Loneliness

I opened the window to let out the smoke

of a piece of bread I forgot in the heat.

The evening air is a thin, cooling cloak

settling down on the noise of the street.

From the park three blocks over, a rhythmic thud

beats like a heart made of rubber and air.

It’s a hollow sound, deep in the mud

of a Sunday that’s going absolutely nowhere.

I hear the chain-link fence give a rattle

when the ball hits the rim and falls to the side.

It’s a quiet, repetitive, one-sided battle

with nowhere for all of that effort to hide.