Thursday, January 27, 2011

Finding ways to express my feelings I


Sometimes it’s a turtle of an old man,
shrunken back into his clothes,
which provide no protection at all.
Sometimes it’s a girl,
a coltish magpie with bits of silver in beak and claw,
boots clipping on the pavement.

The sign, the lie: “Anything helps.”
Is there apology in an apple? Dignity in a dollar?

I wish them well but cannot face them.
The weight of introversion on my shoulders shames me.
I can no more speak to these faces
than to the well-dressed woman
who offers to spray me with scent at Macys.

But the man, the girl, they don’t know this.
I fear they see my shyness as indifference
and that shames me more.
I want my own sign.
“Driver with a generous heart. Too shy to speak to strangers.”

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