He tried so hard
to be included
so that he could
cheat solitude—
but he did not
belong to anything
and only found
a magnified disappointment
in life.

His one project
came to nothing
and doomed him
to everlasting apathy.
Poor pathetic prosaic Mr. Redmond.

Abandoned and ignored
as a child.
Abused and taunted
at school.
Overlooked and by-passed
at work.
He walked awkwardly
with stiff self-conscious limbs
which moved as if
jerkily jolted
by an invisible
energy shock.
Coloured in grey
and beige and black
to cover his moods
and desolation.
He gained small enthusiasms
every evening
after six o’clock
by writing
poor poetry.

He died alone
in an empty room
filled with gloom.
Nobody came
to his funeral.
A quick cremation.
Do you think
that he believed
in reincarnation?