Invisible

Bouncing past, skirt aswirl, length
mid-thigh, she looks through me,

gives her smile to a guy behind.
I'm 62, style my hair, shop J Crew,

whiten teeth, text other dudes,
wear ragged shirts, stylish shades,

check my look in windows,
wink, pose, flirt. But, it's futile.

Something in her genes zaps me --
another man a bit too old, vaporized,

gone in fading light. "Babe, I exist!"
She hears a shadow passing by.



Timothy Pilgrim