Identity

IDENTITY


Who am I, asked the man
with the martini.
I don’t know, I’ve never
known what your kind of
people really are, it always
seems to be snowing
in front of overbright
Christmas shopping windows
downtown money
in my jacket
why are you asking,
and why me?
I don’t actually drink.
It’s all relative,
Gilgamesh, Madame Curie, names
get around and life is suddenly
over, wouldn’t you say?
I wouldn’t say anything.
Your secret’s safe with me.
Why are the vitrines so bright,
why is everything so deadly
desirable? I feel like
I want to get bought too,
please. In red silk, with
gold thread, with music.


Robert Kelly

Posted over on Charlotte Mandell

from MAY DAY: Poems 2003-2005