Two Worlds

August 19, 2009

Imagine, two tiny
turning worlds, floating
just across the way from each other.

There’s you
climbing down
from your tree of a flat,
scaling the walls, landing on our
shared pavement.

There’s me
going for a walk.
You by the prison.
You by the park.

You with your bright red train.
Me with my yellow car,
You with your plastic trees,
Me with my cardboard barn.

Imagine me
holding a small telescope.
I’m holding it up and my whole world
is through one hole.

At the other you’re making
cheese on toast.
We’re turning
round the same news reports

of Israeli bombs
and Iraqi coups,
inner-city shootings
economic boosts.

We’ve the same ceiling
the same clouds,
same mirrors,
same moon.

But you live at the end of a telescope.
I think we can touch.
There’s only air.

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