This Future Me
This Future Me
I walk,
the lush hourupon me,
past corpses
half empty with souls
moving like atoms
along paths
carpeted with gold
leaves, ruddy
and decaying,
in the cold
of autumn’s breath.
I look down -
I see shoes
scuffed at the toe,
cheap fabric woven
to suit my job
by Asian hand,
my adolescent eyes
do not recognise
this man –
this future me.
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