Choking On Air. A Poem.

Scenes within get stuffy, crowded,
and I don’t want to breathe on anyone
let alone choose words to place in
run-on sentences while my fingers

shuffle through party crackers
and cheese the size of dice.
The jazz music wandering though
it all only served as a “should.”

I used to be comfortable being
shoved around by “ought.”
Now, I would rather step outside
and see what the sky is up to.

It’s not their fault, really.
Sometimes I avoid people by
helping them, instead of eating
cheese, I set it ornately on trays.

The folding of chairs or arms
is body language which neither sits
nor embraces connection.
Yet solitude is what I crave

in a crowd sometimes.
Please be near me but do you
mind if we brush cold shoulders
and eat cheese?