issue 24 > light verse > timpane

Wake up, get up, venture nearer;
   Touch your finger to the mirror.
Out of a cloud of possible me's
   A small man coalesces; he's
Like me, or what I thought I was,
   With some surprises. Still, because
I see the balked look in his eyes
   And know the cause, and sympathize,
I hearby accept this invitation
   To be this man, take his station,
Speak through his skin, live through his voice,
   Aware I have no other choice.   






Also by John Timpane:

A Slant on Life: Imperfections Through the Centuries
Better