Inscrutable in mirrored shades,
I broadcast hatred hot and strong.
It rains on all of your parades.
No fucker looks at me for long.
I'm wise to what you're playing at
with scowls and sneers when safe behind
and whispering ways to bell the cat.
What's out of sight is out of mind.
I ride the element of power
as native as the shark at sea.
It buoys me up while hour by hour
the steady slipstream swims with me,
creating space for me to swim
through looks deflected left and right,
dependent on my passing whim
and subject to my appetite.
© Brian Fewster,
Published in Staple 41, Spring 1998
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