VIEWED FROM MY SECOND-STORY WINDOW
by Robert K. Johnson
What do you think you mean?—
you,
a dusk-draped figure
looming into sight
in the middle of a street
empty of traffic,
moving slowly forward
on a skateboard
persistent as time,
foot-push, glide, foot-push,
glide, entering
and leaving
shadow after shadow
as if they were a row
of dark rooms you briefly
visit along the way.
Are you my self?
or every man alone
even when in company?
or only things
that are a tease
of meaning?—bait
for my foolish mind?
Copyright © 2013 by Robert K. Johnson.