Identity Theft

If you're a down draft, I'm an escaped photograph.
When you're a full moon, children disappear from home.
For every nickel you turn in your fingers a bottle fly
Files its nails. When you see your face reflected, it
Sees you as you once were when you were elsewhere.
When flocks fly for you, you let them scatter your neurons.
When you were a tin can I shot you many times over.
If you're a beggar, I'm turning a corner to face you.
Were you a hatband, were I grosgrain ribbon, would
I invite you to move into my neighborhood forest.
When you're a fox, I'm a fox, we're thinking of stealing something.
You are that tired old porch light someone's left burning.
I'm a shy green moth short on memory and handcuffs.
Silver lines you drew me through have cost me my life.

Subscriber Login

User Name

Password

Subscribe Now!

The only way to read this article and the full contents of each week's issue of The Nation online is by subscribing to the magazine. Subscribe now and read this article -- and every article published since for the past five years -- right now.

There's no obligation -- try The Nation for four weeks free.

• Get The Nation at home (and online!) for 68 cents a week!
• If you like this article, consider making a donation to The Nation.
• Reprint this article. Click here for rights and information.