It’s like I never fit the part, nor knew the lines or expected moves.
Miscast like that, I’d show up late, dressed all wrong, saying whatever
Came to me, embarrassing things I’d remember for years and redo
In my head, over and over, re-imagining scenes with me as something
Heroic, a comfortable character for once, the proper protagonist for
A story I could tell myself without being embarrassed.
It’s like I watched the whole thing from the sidelines, wearing the wrong
Team’s uniform. I remember falling down a lot – tricycles and bicycles,
Running and even walking – off the back porch on a trike, down the cellar
Stairs on a shoelace. I’ve looked up from there, bleeding, embarrassed,
And promising myself I’d know better, eventually, but eventually seems
So long back then, back when just waiting to be picked lasted forever.
-- J. K. Durick