Projections

Why am I always fencing your last touch?
Maybe you look at my frustrations and you see—yourself

I become a mirror into time
Tilting towards the past
An endlessly repeating loop—
The moment when you froze;
Fractional slip in your attention;
A fatal and whole-hearted choice
In the wrong direction

But I’m not you
Or him, for what that’s worth
It does no good to nail me with
The oh-so-clever riposte that occurred to you
A little bit too late
It doesn’t change the outcome
Just leaves me bruised

So turn the mirror to the wall, ok?
Reset the clock
Focus on what’s here, right now
On writing stories into future history
I promise, if you choose to try again
I’ll be there on your side, cheering every action
Empathizing with you on the lousy calls

Meanwhile, let’s take it as an article of faith that you can hit me
anytime you want
No need to prove that theorem—let’s move on.