Flickering

By David Rivard

"I see you," she says—

one of the flickering homeless with gray

alehouse hair, pale blue

eyes, crunchy lips—a methadone-

troubled moth by the YMCA—but who

does she see?—is it

the chubby, right-handed schoolboy

sent out by the nuns

at St. Joseph's to clap

the chalkboard erasers clean?

Or the giddy

teenage shipping clerk at lunch break

smoking pot for the first time

behind a curtain factory

shed? Perhaps the middle-aged

mortgagee? Maybe an ex-

proofreader in lawyerland or betraying husband?

Maybe the good loser? How about

the new father smiling in tears?

Why not

the complainer's

ally, or the devoted wanker,

or the inert

doubter, or the annoyancer

or toddler?—

if not the circumspect bald man,

crank, or

unselfish lecturer—

or does she see each of them?—

maybe each

would like

a lantern to carry;

tho there are

nowhere

near enough lamps

for all.

Copyright Credit: David Rivard, "Flickering" from Standoff. Copyright © 2016 by David Rivard. Reprinted by permission of Graywolf Press, www.graywolfpress.org.

Source: Standoff (Graywolf Press, 2016)