JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

and then there is an older person

lurking behind the mirror,

trying to decipher medical hieroglyphics,

out of breath in steep places

 

‘hello’, he says, coughing,

‘you recognize me, don’t you’

(memories of your parents)

offering you a chair

 

‘thought you’d never come’

and you realize he’s been there

all the time as you walk by

a smidgeon less briskly than before

 

turning your head every which way

save in his direction, then moving

aside to avoid some children on roller skates

who only yesterday were your school mates