Wednesday, August 14, 2013

The Invisible Man

So many hours
of my anxious youth
were wasted
hoping that someone would
see me.

It was nerve wracking,
all that prep work
all that rehearsal.

A calculated appearance
and rarely the payoff
of a glance
or someone’s laughter
would come my way.

Now that I’m older
and there isn't anyone
to impress anymore,

I value my anonymity,
taking pains to dress down
not making eye contact
not saying anything,

because the anonymity
is as close as I can get to
invisibility:

I watch, study
all the grasping and yearning
specimens
in their vainglorious dance
-- what are they wearing?
-- why did they pick that tattoo?
-- how many warts bumps and boils
can the human neck suffer?

I smile,
content that
I don’t desire
an audience anymore,

as I slip
though the crowd,
stealth and unnoticed,
I convince myself
that I truly am
invisible

and maybe I’m
the only person here
who is truly alive.

2 comments:

  1. ha. great close...alive in that you dont have the pressure of being anyone beyond yourself....i feel you there...live on...

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, yes, it is an illusion, but I still feel like I'm the only person truly alive sometimes.

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