Heroes Lost

Perched upon my singled-out, iconic bar stool,

Spot-lighted at a side-lined table
With my cup of coffee and singed tongue,
I listen to the roar of conversation that has
Distracted my already scattered train of thought.
So much is being spoken that none of it makes sense.
But I feel that if all was isolated,
Each of those conversing would continue in their lack of sense
And meaning.

I sit back and accept my loss at being lost in my own thoughts.
Curious now, I counter their invasion into my thoughts
With an invasion of my own.
Some would call it eaves-dropping.
Others would claim it as invasion of privacy.
I feel no guilt, for it was they who attacked first.
I am simply returning the favor.

And if they choose to gloat about their illegal, less-than-respectable
Rendezvous
Loud enough to bring one as I out of a deep, philosophical daydream,
I consider that a personal invitation.
Therefore, I accept their invitation
And I look forward to the cheese,
And the wine,
And the stories that they will laugh at now,
But will one day cringe at the mention of
As they admit to these acts
In the presence of those who once held them in high regards.
And the pain that they will see in the eyes
Of those heroes
Will never match the shame that will be in their own eyes,
In that very moment.

By: Carlyn Holland - Boone, NC