Poem with a Superpower
Exquisite me. Angelic me.
I never say I’m sorry for anything
(one of us thinks). I can’t remember
the present, for all the unthinkable
future reversing back into me.
Tentative. Me in suspense.
The art on the walls is hanged
at nefarious angles;
a boy at the counter disappears,
or I can see through him.
How does my x-ray vision
know when to stop? I
was trying to get to the way end.
