UN-I-DENTIFIED
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BY: Keith H. Seymour
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I enter a seemingly familiar room… or place
even a function to which… I have been invited,
or of which they have made me…
A part.
And though the people there seen to notice me…
They really don’t.
They say hello
and ask about my health…
Always asking about… some person or acquaintance
we currently know, or at least… we once mutually knew.
Their words and expressions
that flow with continuous consistency
seem to indicate
some sort of acknowledgement of me.
Yet, the tone in their voices
and their eyes… Oh their blank eyes…
They all say something else.
I would not say it is like… I’m invisible.
It is more that… Even though I know
I am there, to everyone else
I don’t really exist
and to them I never
Really did.
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