The Double
He follows me around,
hasn’t got a life of his own,
but uses bits of mine instead.
He picks out moments,
rummaging through the
dustbin of memories.
He’s expert at identity theft,
living on credit cards he knows
he’ll never have to pay.
He’s stolen my fingerprints
and now everything he
touches incriminates me.
He has no backbone but uses mine
to crawl around the house, but he
is still an invertebrate at heart.
I’ll get him in the end, catch him
in the act of impersonation, confront
him and say: Who do you think you are?
And he’ll say: I thought you were me –
so what does that make you?
Colin Pink lives in London and writes poems and plays. His poetry has appeared in Poetry News, Poetry Salzburg Review, The SHOp and Urthona. His plays have been performed in London, New York City and Berlin. He has occasionally reviewed poetry for Urthona.