The Outcasts

by Brian Jones

Added 13 October 1997

Second, third, and eighth hand smoke
circulates around the room.
I'm immune to the darkened cubicle
though only inches away.
I laugh at these lab animals
congregating in the sealed glass room
in need of their lustful fix.
Their habit sets strangers to talking
and binds them together
in hopes, perhaps, of making
a whole healthy person
from the remnants of the 30.
One scared little rabbit emerges
not knowing what to do.
Sniffing the air he stops.
People flow around him,
hardly recognizing his fear.

Written 28 March 1996, Washington-Dulles International Airport

U.S. Copyright # Txu 728-358