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Confesion
my body is not my body
it’s someone else’s
he is old, much older than i am
the skin on his legs and upper arms
covering places where muscles used to be
is crinkled like tissue paper
the kind party surprises were wrapped in
but stretched thin so that some
of the veins show through
i forget the right name for those surprises
yesterday he told a hoary joke
to my daughter who must
have heard it a hundred times
but laughed politely
i was so embarrassed
i forget the point of this joke
as i forget a lot of names
there’s someplace where he keeps them
a drawer perhaps without a handle
one where the handle comes off when you
try to pull it open and you can only guess
what’s inside, you’re usually wrong
thinking it starts with an ‘m’ or a ‘d’
yesterday he looked at me in the
bathroom mirror but didn’t recognize me,
it’s strange here inside this drawer
bumping into people in the darkness
who touch fingers to their lips as if to say
we know something you don’t
until the light goes on
and you recognize them
so you laugh politely with her
and she calls you daddy and
when she leaves she gives you a hug
you know it’s for real
and you could die of happiness
© Johnmichael Simon
2011
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