glass of water

Posted: August 27, 2011 in transliteration

I had to shut everything away at a safe, muted distance and reduced myself to traveling to and from the drinking fountain
with a glass.
I kept the glass from a pair we drank from.
One shatters against the wall before he put his fist through it
less than six inches from my face.
I carried the surviving glass to and from the drinking fountain.

I drank heavily
but I ventured to and from the drinking fountain
to sustain my Krebs cycle.

You breached the subject unexpectedly.
You’d noticed me
going to and from the drinking fountain.

You said that I was a lot like the people you painted
the way you painted them…

but you painted homeless people
from photos.

You may have been right.
I probably am more like those people you watched
than I’ll ever be like you.

What you saw, I feel, but your rationalization of it will always fall short.

I don’t pretend to know you.
I don’t sit and watch you and analyze you.
I acknowledge that you exist, and I might take note of what you’re doing.
I might attempt to change courses if you step in my path

to and from the drinking fountain.

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