When the woman gave me a look
back over her shoulder
I went and crossed the road
it was dark and poorly lit
I didn't want to scare her
and I didn't mean any harm
well, none of us do,
but we're clumsy
we break things and people
that's the way it is
that's the fact of the matter
look, we were made that way
and the most they do is look
but they'd have done with us long since
if looks could kill
Still, pooled, anchored in their chairs
the audence, all ears
Writer floats above them, magnified,
suspended in applause
A questioner, unruly: a sudden breeze
to sway the nodding heads
Writer is affronted, audience
a shoal of disapproval
Overwhelmed, the questioner
is cast into the depths
and the air grows still again.
Writers and readers: and which
is Narcissus,
and which the mirrored pool?