ISOLATION

He stands alone, facing the wall,
removing pieces of moss
that are growing in the mortar.
It's as though he is invisible, a nonentity.
The isolation is complete when the bell  rings
and nobody calls his name or notices he is missing.
He looks around the empty playground
eyes like saucers, staring, unseeing.
Loneliness envelopes his very being
shrouding him in a feeling of desolation.
All he wants is a friend, to belong, to be.
For someone to call his name and
acknowledge that he is, that he exists, that he matters,
albeit in a world that makes no sense at all,
where nothing fits in or lines up quite straight,
and people say things they don't mean
like Clouds having Silver Linings and
Everything Happens in Threes.
He kicks the step with the toe of his shoe.
Everyone knows that clouds are white and
a visible mass of watery vapours
and that things just happen, in any number,
not just threes.
He trips as he climbs the steps, scraping his knee.
He cries out in desperation at this total isolation.