Monday, January 12, 2015

WITHOUT ID



Once I dreamed I had lost my wallet
After that, unable to prove who I was while I slept,
I had to take small jobs – one of the audience, say,
When you gave a lecture naked or a stray cousin
Whose name you had forgotten. Occasionally,
I moved scenery or did minor disrepairs.
The car that wouldn’t start when you needed
To take your wombat to the emergency room?
My responsibility; I’d apologize except --
Remember? -- that dream worked out well;
You wound up in a bar; the wombat, recovered,
Bought round after round and, under the table,
You and the lost dauphin held hands.
After a while, some smugglers or, possibly, bears,
Gave me the wallet I now use, stuffed
With very plausible proofs of identity.

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