Outsider

Where I sit
to eat
Where I go
to commiserate.

My colleagues are there.
Commaraderie is happening.
There is no chair for me.
For me, there is no welcome.

The club,
I am not a member.
All aspiration of respect
has quickly become an ember.

Should I cry?
No, but I do.
Will I be OK?
I should be, but I am not.

As I look around,
is there anywhere else?
Where else should I be?
There is nowhere else. I am an outsider.