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Walrus II

The Walrus

He starts off every morning the same
A bowl of warmed cinnamon oatmeal
And milk and cereal of the same name
A banana to go, the others left lonely

He is good at his job, but nothing really special
No Work Station 6 Peter by anyone else’s measure
But it’s a good way to take up hours of the day
The water cooler, though thirst quenching, is lonely

On the commute home, he reads pamphlets
But really aches for human contact
He glances above instructions just enough to see
Stocking-ed legs, ironed slacks—maybe too lonely

He’s doing nothing wrong, but perhaps
Nothing right by these same rules
All can appreciate his conversation, polite jokes
But no one seeks it out, for him it is lonely

From the door of the apartment—shoes off,
Cat greets him warmly between the ankles
His first grin of the day, followed by ear scratches
But even cat’s whisker tusks can’t make it much less lonely