The Visit

Beware of the spastic
dissembling, elastic
his face confusion
his eyes fantastic.

Set on a chair
like a wire doll with
a pillow stomach, he
waves an ungrasping hand
which hangs from his slight wrist,
trembling, like a rubber glove
hung out in the wind. “I
am here, a
man shivering
in and bound
by torn nerves, sparking. Speak
to me.” Unanswered he
waves and waits with hysterical patience
for a moment empty and still.

How much of me is him and
how much of him is me? We
are both bound by a question,
finally. His question is underpinned
by longing, mine by fear. We
part, waving, shivering----clear.

Beware of the spastic
dissembling, elastic
our faces confusion
our eyes fantastic.

T. Baker