another old(ish) "sid" poem...

life-long dead, nothing to say.
he’d guarded corners at parties years ago.
his cousin wanted to catch up on the last few dead years,
and he tried his best to speak, but couldn’t stop focusing on
the blank wall next to his cousin.
so he stood around, a ghost.
he helped the host.
he guarded the coffee.
“it’s Strong, French Roast,” she said.
he wanted some coffee.
careful how much he took from the living, he allowed himself half a cup.
and another half a cup.  and as he drank
he realized
he liked the cheap instant stuff better.