The Human Photocopier
Drawn by each otherís reflection in the glass,
two images lie together on the platen,
sharing privacy beneath a lid.
The button presses for them [copy]
and two are blended into one. It is you.
The button presses again [copy]. It is him.
Once again [copy]. It is her.
Each new creation a deviation from you.
Spot the difference as the toner ink sets.
Tiny smudges puckering a skin,
a fresh fruit turning to walk away,
making it final, with every sorrow
recycled into his victory.
Dark lines rising from scissored cuts,
separating defiance to howl a truth
under a pillow where to disappoint,
for her, is to excel.
Similar images but not the quite the same.
Not quite as expected [the
toner ink runs out].
Hear the silent judge.
It is you.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan Wilson would
be pleased to hear them