Rising from the subway to the street,
Freed from the horde,
I claim my own space
And as I walk the beautiful
Body I never had is mine.
Adulation is mine.
The hooded robe is mine.
The glorious left jab tattooing
My opponent’s bloodied face also mine.
“What’s my name? What’s my name?”
I shout at my pummeled opponent,
As the master once did.
This emergence from anonymity—
Mine mine mine.Now I am here.
The computer booted to life.
From the adjoining cubicle
The crinkle of aluminum foil.
Aged and economy-minded
Marian Redondo clogs her mouth
With home-bought treats
And tries to speak into the receiver.
Later she will scavenge for leftovers in the cafeteria.
Saving for retirement she is.The meaning, please, of a mirror
Reflecting such ugliness back to me.November 2003