Me, Me, Me
Sometimes I feel like a stranger in the town called Me.
I enter a bar and all the other me fall silent.
The barman is familiar, he reminds me of me
when I was younger. “Shandy” I say and he shakes
his head without speaking. “It’s funny” says the me
next to me, “I haven’t seen your face in here before”.
He gives his ice a tinkle in the glass. “I’m new in town”
I say “and I’m lost. Do you know who I am?” I show him
the wife and kid in my wallet but some weirdo has scratched
out their faces with a key. He turns from me to social media:
“weirdo next to me has scratched out his wife and kid’s faces
with a key, lol!”. I would never use ‘lol’ I think,
and then remember all the times I have used ‘lol’
or emoticons to show what I am feeling. (Mostly winks,
some downturned mouths, occasionally a cat
reading a book). All the online me are now on the bar TV.
Missing says the caption beneath the photographs.
The other me all watch me and shudder,
as if trying to shake off a cold. I drink my beer
and run my hand through my hair. Me pulls
away in horror, “keep your hands to yourself!”
I retreat to the jukebox, select a 7”, it kicks in,
plays me singing in the shower something sweet
and sad like a wedding cake in bucket of sick,
“I remember me!” I say, but all the other me are asleep
and it’s time for me to go.
Andrew McDonnell writes poetry and short fiction. He has a story ‘Breakfast by the Motorway’ in the Being Dad anthology, due out today. He co-runs Gatehouse Press & Lighthouse Literary Journal.