Oh Thing

My eyes seem to be yours.

Whom do I see?

Old. Stooped.

Is this a looking-glass?

Or am I in a dream,

where I believe

that I am I

and you are you?

Then who are you,

oh thing?

What are you gazing at,

oh thing?

You stoop to leer,

peer at my eyes,

ogle my parts.

You know, you know,

oh thing,

and mock!

So am I to wake,

and feel the weight of memory of this,

taste it, smell it, but be rid of it?

Or must I remain

in this mocking world,

feeling kilo on kilo of me,

oh me,

oh thing?

(Apr 2022)