His book of photographs
betrays his memory
was he ever that thin?
and what of that unctuous smile
he wore like a mask?
and what did he see in her
because now all he sees
is a stranger he used
to lay naked next to
whoever he was
he smiled too hard
and convinced no one
especially himself.
In this group shot
everyone looks more
drunken and alive
than he does.
When I look at his picture
all I notice are
his collection of scars
and his oversized
Achilles’ Heel.
He accepts that
there's no cosmic Photoshop program
to airbrush his blemishes
and erase his mistakes
as he shifts the weight
of the every ugly memory
and slings it over his shoulder
rambling from town to town
looking for his home:
where he never wanted to return
and where he never really left.
Now he just wants
to see everything
as it is
and just understand it
but his world is a
set of algebra problems
in a locked case
written in Arabic
at the bottom of the ocean
and he didn’t know then
and he doesn’t know now
but at least
he’s not trying to fool anyone
anymore
including himself.