Alone, stranded at six o'clock,
some guy asked to borrow my pen
to ink his index finger with a cross;

I handed it to him without a thought
but he began to shout about some woman,
alone stranded at six o'clock

waiting for him at a coffee shop.
I feigned concern for that mad man,
inking his index finger with a cross.

As he spoke, he drew a watch
across his right wrist, its hour hand
static, stranded at six o'clock;

This ring of red and gold came off
only once, and she left me then.
He inked his index finger with a cross.

At last the train had reached my stop;
I rushed for the stairs and left him
alone, stranded at six o'clock

inking his index finger with a cross.



About the author:
Les Kay earned an MFA from the University of Miami , where he was a James Michener fellow and Managing Editor of Mangrove. His poetry has appeared in Stirring, TPQ, and Pearl. He is the founding editor of Ward 6 Review and is currently working on a novel, Pixel Islands.

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