by Charles Troob
I love solitude; I hate to be alone.
Give me a book, a chair, a view of a garden,
half a dozen people wandering through the house,
cheerfully burbling–
and maybe someone will come by with a cold drink
or a little snack and a conspiratorial smile.
Then I’ll say “thanks,” or I hope I will, if I’m not
lost in thought, and after a while I’ll get up
and be gracious, unless people
have already left, in which case
I’ll feel a bit abashed,
but not for long,
A group of IRP members meets with Sarah White each Wednesday morning to learn from the work of published poets and from each other. What a gift!