Every day he goes out for a walk,
nods and smiles at everyone he knows
and every day he walks home, still alone
Always the same streets and café stops.
Always a chance: today he might connect.
Every day he goes out for a walk
looking for a passing word, a chat.
Coffee or a drink? Too much to hope,
and every day he walks home still alone
trailing his loneliness like a cloak,
certain that today he’ll make a friend,
every day he goes out for a walk
greeting mere acquaintance heartily,
exchanging banter and banalities,
every day he goes out for a walk and
every day he still walks home alone.
Purposeful and pointless, full of hope,
his longing ill-concealed beneath his smile
he takes his loneliness out for a walk
and knows that he will always walk alone.
A villanelle about T., who we see everywhere in town, waiting for nobody to have coffee with.