There She is!

I doubt that she will recognize me.
Mine is but one wind-burnt face
Within a sea of bobbing heads
Of fans from what was once her
Town. She doesn't live here anymore.
She isn't anything like us. She is,
Instead, a “famous person.” I'm
Not certain what that means, but I
Suspect that she's forgotten waiting
Tables here with me, and football
Games on Friday nights. What
Does she do, what do her fellow
Famous people do, at night?
Do they escape to secret places,
Out of paparazzis' eyes, or do they
Simply sit at home, almost as if
They still lived in the sorry burgs
They dreamed of leaving, watching
Others clear the tables, sensing,
Perhaps slightly sadly, that their
Fame and fortune have enabled them
To soar up to a plane so high they
Cannot recognize the faces of those
They once knew?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 172 times
Written on 2019-02-22 at 20:18

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text