Day

I asked him a question
about the train crash
that had been on the news,
so that he felt like
he had a purpose.

His confused face looked up,
gazed at me
through a drunken mist.
I could see his brain trying
to work through sheet upon
sheet of glazed
over emotional barriers
trying to find its footing.

He slurred,
telling me that
there were
fourteen people
dead so far,
his eyes lit up

– engaged finally –

he said that the death count
was expected to rise.
I asked something else,
anything really, nothing
I can recall
and he answered that too.
I stood in the doorway,
trying to work
out another move.