Skinny Man
skinny man
by isiah d. horne
I sit at this table glaring at my food,
sick with anger,
sick with gluttony
and sick of trying.
The untouched plate in front of me
will remain that way
until its cold,
tasteless,
leftovers
are overcome with flies.
Then I will sit here
crying.
Like a poetry glutton, Horne’s “skinny man” has me wanting to read more from him. Can anyone else feel the desperation, the depression? Read it aloud and see if we agree…
agreed. The poem doesn’t exactly reach out and grab me, but the word choices are full of hard stops that beautifully reinforce its content. The guy knows how to write a poem. Reading it aloud was an excellent suggestion.