Self Portrait I
Rick Rohdenburg
​
My despair is standing in the dim glow of a street lamp.
The face of my despair is shadowed by a black fedora.
My despair has turned up his lapels
against the spattering rain.
My despair has flicked a cigarette
into the street. It flares briefly.
A tendril of gray smoke lingers in the air.
It is disappointing my despair has not quit smoking.
To my despair, the empty storefronts are grim faces
carved in great black stones.
A taxi slows by the corner. My despair is disinclined.
If you should see my despair,
in the gathering dark, in the misting rain,
know, though he is me and I am he,
wherever you may find him,
I myself have disappeared.