I am a Local

I am a local, sitting in the diner,
sitting in the booth that's supposed to be for families.
I order what every lonely,
sad,
disoriented person orders:

"coffee,black."

I have a wife and two kids,
the american dream.
I am gulping down the black quietly,

slowly,

like I'm expecting something to happen between sips.
I am really just drawing this out, hoping that I can make this cup last for minutes,

months

maybe years.
Minutes,

months

years so I don't have to go back,
so I can sit here and pretend I am one of those sad,
lonely,
disoriented people.

I am you ten years from now,
sitting in the seat you once sat in.
I drive a red,
sleek sports car - god, what does that say about you?

I am you ten years ago,
a boy who was forgotten by their parents while leaving for vacation.
I am sitting in this booth made for families,
and my family has forgotten their son,

sitting

alone, scared,
wondering how boring I must be to be forgotten.
Wondering how lifeless I already am,
not knowing one day I will be an adult driving a red sports car.

Not married,
no kids,
no one to forget.
Sitting alone at a booth that's supposed to be for a family.

I am a local, and so are you.

Or -

wait -

are you?