Impostor

What you thought you saw in me,
You didn't. We both know that now.
It turns out I have feet of clay.
Your sage is just another babbler,
Quick with bromides, slow to act.
His fortune's unpaid IOUs. His
Fancy car was hauled away, and he
Can't have you come to visit because
He's gone back to living in his
Parents' home. My credit card can
Buy you dinner, during which my
Sweaty hands reach for the now-
Impassive face of one who clearly
Plans to go. I would chase you if I
Could, but can't with feet of clay.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 16 times
Written on 2021-02-03 at 21:41

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