Stray

They stop all at once and stare at you.
All of their eyes look different
from the varying hours of sleep between
their different circumstances.
They are all waiting,
waiting for the bending limb to break
and your voice to escape, that place
you always hold it in your head.
You remember seasons like this from years
ago. Trying to make conversation
with people you didn’t know and had no
business seeing to begin with.
Still you loitered in their space
like a stray dog waiting for scraps
of anything you could devour.
Here you sit again thinking just as always
that you should be nowhere.
Just a soul that felt too comfortable
in the void.
You say exactly what they want you to say,
and then they all just look away.
Thank God it’s finally over.
You can breathe.