Ketchup Spot

Solitude was sweeter
when stolen in wee hours
early or late, standing vigil
of sorts over sleeping loved ones,
savoring a day or simply
trying to figure things out,
with the option to crawl back
under covers to the comfort
of a warm body waiting.

As a steady diet
it grows a bit stale
but is what it is,
freedom’s ominous
henchman, the ketchup spot
on your shirt making you
feel conspicuous, the condition
you learn to live with while learning
what you can live without.


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