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I Am Not a Zelig
By Sy Roth

If not now, when?
The Zelig resides
Quiet, undefined 
In my dark corners.

Like a chameleon, it rests on the warming rock
Inert, cold-blooded creature
Sunning itself 
As the ages revolve about it.

In the room, they come and go,
All the merry Zeligs,
Awash in their obfuscation.
They blend in so well.

I watch them and my brain meanders,
My colors a steady stream,
While their kaleidoscopes
Are a whirligig of activity.

The warming rock gives me comfort
While their cold stares
Wrap me in a crinkly, aluminum sheet
Preserving what warmth escapes me.

The music of their voices
Play discordant songs about me
And I wonder,
Wondrous thoughts that slither among my dreams.

I’m warmed into somnambulance
Of time, while Zelig souls
Eat them hungrily
And their color fades into nothingness.

I am not a Zelig
And I should be happy about it
But I frown at the intransigence 
Of my spiritless, colorless climax.

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