Lament of an Angel

by Duane Locke

I cannot believe I'm invisible.  I believe
I'm visible, but
Rarely are our beliefs true.
There's so much evidence to prove I'm invisible.
              
I see images of myself in mirrors,
Perhaps a mirage,
An illusion produced by my intense desire
To have a body.
              
I went to a cocktail, everybody huddled together, talking.
No one saw me.  I did a dance in the middle of the floor.
No one noticed.  I walked down a crowded street,
Kept stepping out of peoples' ways.  No one saw me.
              
I became convinced I was invisible
When I saw my next door neighbor with the dark hair
Picking up beer bottles thrown in her yard
During a night of a block party.
              
She was wearing a low necked midriff.
I rushed over to discuss garbage disposal.
I spoke friendly.  She did not see me,
Kept dropping bottles in a brown plastic bag.
              
I spoke again.  She still did not see me.
I was standing only three feet from her.

Duane Locke writes: "Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in Renaissance Literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, Poet in Residence at University of Tampa for over twenty years, publisher of over 2,000 poems in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander, author of 14 books of poems, his latest being WATCHING WISTERIA (to order see www.vidapublishing.com or call Small Press Distribution-1-800-869-7553), cyber-poet, since Sept 1, 1999 has had 402 acceptances by online zines, photographer, listed in PSA's WHO'S WHO as one of the top twenty nature photographers, painter, currently having a one-man show of over 30 painting at the Pyramid gallery in Tampa, winner for poetry of the Edna St. Vincent Millay, Charles Agnoff, and Walt Whitman awards, now lives alone and isolated in the sunny Tampa slums. He lives estranged and as an alien, not understanding the customs, the costumes, the language, some form of postmodern English, of his surroundings. The egregious ugliness of his neighborhood has been mitigated by the esthetic efforts of the police who put up bright orange and yellow posters on each post to advertise the location in a shopping mall for drugs. His recreational activities are drinking wine, listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy."

THIS WORK IS COPYRIGHT OF THE AUTHOR.

THE DANFORTH REVIEW IS EDITED BY MICHAEL BRYSON.