Iris Litt
I Saw a Guy Who Looks Like You
I saw a guy who looks like you
coming toward the sidewalk café
not unlikely it was you
looked like you and probably
millions of guys in the U.S.A.
he/you had a fringe of white
ringing his baldness
beerbelly tapering to slim hips
blue workshirt and jeans
white running shoes
black canvas briefcase
and I knew if I opened the briefcase
or the shiny head
it would be filled with
should-haves could-have-dones and what-ifs
and other sixty-fivish wonders
and I see the whole movie
and say no thanks you can have it spare me
never again never another stop me if I do.
I lied.
I hope it’s you.
In Mexico
Like these Indians I practice signs, portents and cures.
Ceremonially I sprinkle chia seed on a banana
and lo! Moctezuma’s Revenge shall disappear.
In a grand defensive gesture
I drench our palapa roof
and behold! when the rains come I shall be old, weathered and serene.
In our wild eternally warring state of Guerrero
I swing my hand in an arc like a blessing or a machete
to touch your palm, enter us into a state of peace
search the horizon of your lips for signs of approaching smiles
decreeing that for a century of a moment
sadness shall be far as cities
happiness bright as undiscovered bays.
