The Tissue

A somber recounting of longing, loss, and alienation.

Returning home from the daily grind
What do I see upon the counter but a tissue
Used
Not mine
In a grotesque pose it sits there
Screaming at me silently, impudently
As if daring me to remove
This snapshot of indecency
I reach out my hand
But with a sudden gust of wind
The gossamer sheet eludes my grasp
I am broken
Left with no recourse
But to maintain my vigil
Over the tissue
Until I am dust