Clone

Poem and image by Craig Boehman. Listen to spoken word version of "Clone" here.

Clone



Clone,

You rhyme with me.

You are my sudden urge dew drop dance.

I saw you once in a jazz guitar instruction book.

It was like looking directly into the sun,

only you were blinded and I merely

turned the page.


Clone,

I was at the mall one day long ago time

scoping girls and some guy came up to me

swearing up and down that I was you.

I had to convince him that I was not my clone

or vice versa.


Clone,

Are you German or do you speak that old

tribal language? I was at a club called The Spot

in Kassle, Germany and another guy came up to me

and swore up and down that I was just another Bavarian

buddy of his trying to be American. I had picked up the accent

being there for so long and all I knew was

“Ich habe durst.”


Clone,

I tell all our mutual friends I am looking for you.

I tell them with a straight face that they too,

should find their clones and kill them

lest they are murdered in self-defense.

The world ain’t big enough for the two of us.

All there is is suspicion and mistrust.

What else are reflections to think of one another?


Clone

I have listened to the sages and self-help gurus:

I seek myself.

But I do not look within.

I keep a lookout

for you.


Clone,

I changed my name and Google tells me

you have reclaimed it as your own.

That didn’t take long!

I think I’ll hold onto this identity a little

while longer and fuck up my credit

and collect parking fines.

I won’t make it so easy for you

next time.


Clone,

I am learning Mandarin Chinese and Urdu.

Or maybe I’m lying and it’s French and Bengali.

I will grow my hair long and chop it all off

smooth bald at the end of a growing season

in Northern Spain.

Or Nepal.


Clone,

If we ever meet in persons, you will not know me.

I will already be behind you,

behind your mirror giving bad advice.

One of us will be gold in black sand.

One of us will be translucent, the other transparent.

One will laugh as the other cries.

Only one of us will remain standing nonchalantly

behind the yellow tape of

our crime scene.


Listen to spoken word version of "Clone" here

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© 2019-2020 By Craig Boehman

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