Meursault

“I opened myself to the gentle
indifference of the world”

They tried to make me feel different
like I wasn’t connected or in touch,
but isn't everyone just doing time,
standing vigil and mourning without tears.

Eventually we all join this funeral procession,
a slow march through the scorching sun.
Conviction, condemnation and reprisal,
are my rewards for calling the ritual absurd.

Some days I can imagine the crowd
shouting from the subway platform
as my train pulls away into the darkness,
cries of “die Meursault die” echoing down the line.

I can’t really explain the four extra shots,
seemed like the thing to do at the time.
I've decided to start wearing sunglasses,
that should be enough to show regret.

*(Re-print from The Melancholy Dane)