Silver shards of fractured light
Bleed from a street lamp
And mingle with the garish intrusions
Of neon annoyance.
These muddled attempts at illumination
Are reflected back to me
From the murky surfaces
Of pothole puddles.
Catch me in the act of being.
I am frozen in their glare,
And they glare accusingly.
They demand to know:
What is my purpose at this hour?
In weather like this?
Getting no response
They pass me as if
They hadn’t noticed me at all.
The steps I have taken
To take me in search of myself
Have brought me to this corner diner
(I won’t bother count my change
As I know already it is not enough).
The rain that rolls down in window-waves
On the glass through which I look
Gives the patrons an alien appearance-
They seem to alter shape at will
As their outlines become blurry and indistinct.
Features and motions are distorted,
An arm seems broken,
A man has three hands, a lady smiles and frowns at the same time.
I wonder if that is how they see each other.
I wonder also if they,
See me in the same way.
Focusing now on the near reflection
My question is soon answered –
I see myself
An am also blurry and indistinct.
Turning down the street
I start my journey anew.
Copyright © Bruce Schuhart | Year Posted 2012
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