A Soliloquy

by Kevin McLellan

The theater of the quotidian
Again. The impulse to speak.
And by not speaking
Creates a ghost. Within

I bury it further. Others keep
It company — keep
It at a distance — until
I’m in public. Like now

In a crowd. I know people
Look down upon those
Who talk to themselves.
And I am talking to myself

Here in front of others ‘dying
A slow death’ —