John Grey

ON A NEW YEAR’S DAY, LONG LONG AGO
 
Loneliness caught up with me in a mirror.
There I was staring back at me.
The eyes were mine and no one else’s.
Same with the mouth.
And the arms draped at my sides.
There was no one to ask,
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Or who inquired of me,
“It’s New Year.
Why haven’t you taken down 
the Christmas decorations?”
The light above tried to come off as a halo.
But I was no one’s angel.
Just my own fat chance.

 
THE RED OR THE GREEN
 
And do I cut the red wire or the green wire,
say something or not mention it at all,
concentrate hard or let my thoughts scatter –
the unexploded bomb has its reasons,
as does the fault in you that can’t be blamed
completely on the stars,
and my mind is only totally free from outside influences
maybe one or two times a day –
best just to look at my reflection in the window 
of the tea shop.
 
A simple play of light and glass
is better than a soft slap in the face.
Everything else is too complex.
If I leave everyone undisturbed, 
they can’t blow up on me.

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