The Double

I couldn't believe it.
It was me, but not just "me."
It was me me.
I was at a party with some friends,
sipping a beer, laughing,
trying to appear witty for the girls.
I felt self-assured, maybe even a little cocky
with the right look, the right smell, the right timbre of voice
that I had modulated downward for effect.
The gold ring in my ear flashed in the lights and
my sleeve tattoo looked wicked cool
below a rolled up cuff.

Then I walked in.
It was unfriggin' believable.
My hair was short-cropped and unassuming.
I appeared relaxed and unadorned in any way,
a white t-shirt and jeans.
I joined our group and set people at ease.
The focus shifted from me to those around me.
They were being engaged and reflected by this newcomer
who appeared to have no agenda and precious little ego needs.
It was unfair that I should show up as I did
and take the focus off of me so fully.
I guess that is what happens when you write something called

"The Double"


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