Alone Poem by Stan Petrovich

He put the gum in his right
lower pocket, where it belonged;
The Certs in this heat melted, staining his right
upper pocket, a crying shame.
The green stone went in his left
upper pocket along with the key to nothing;
the robin's egg nestled in his left
lower pocket but never hatched.

He crisscrossed the flats between
the two rocky spires and, every day,
wished he had a compass
or to find anything that could control
his life's motion.

But he never found that thing,
except for the head-bones of a cow,
and he could not contrive a place
for them, so he buried them and mourned:
Later on he died alone.