Saturday, January 15, 2011

A poem about me

(Dedicated humbly to me)

I was talking behind my back
To the stranger who stood in the glass
Which is almost but not quite as hard as
Kicking yourself in the arse.

'You're not half of the man that I am,'
I said, 'Though you go by my name.'
He nodded and grinned ruefully
And said, 'But you're just the same.'

I stood watching him in the mirror
As I talked to him over my back
A perilous, complex manoeuvre,
But easy once you have the knack.

'You're not quite as tall as your height,'
He said, 'And I'm smarter than you.'
With both eyes I looked in his left one,
And simply said, 'me too.'

I finished with mutual compliments,
He smiled and said, 'touche'.
Having each fought ourselves to a draw,
We agreed we'd both won on the day.

I was talking behind my back
To the stranger I happen to be -
What a beautiful bastard he is,
That frustrating lovely me.

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