the thinnest sliver of hope

a fresh four inches of
snow on the ground

the temp is a balmy
ten degrees

the cold air makes it
painful for me to even

my birthday shall
come and go soon

no hello

no kiss

not even an offhand
card or email to provide
me with the thinnest
sliver of hope to believe

and it's not that i thought
growing old was going
to be graceful or exciting

i just never thought i
would face so much
of it so alone

so written off

and so far away from
anyone's mind that
even a suicide would
be pointless

J.J. Campbell (b.1976) lives, writes, but mostly dies a little each day in Brookville, Ohio. He's been widely published in the small press, most recently at Opium Poetry 2.0, The Panulaan Review, The Joint (Australia), ZYX and FUCK!. You can contact J.J. via email at jcampb4593@aol.com

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