The water is clear, you float above,
ungainly in a wetsuit, breathing
through a tube, distracted by salt
and coral creatures. Parrot fish
crunch on the reef, turtles wink
at the surface, a lizard slithers by.
There is no theme song. Sleek, silent,
unhurried and so cool, he could be
a native Roman smoking at a café, a
Parisian doused in perfume on the Metro,
a New Yorker shoving through Herald Square.
You mean nothing to him, only
an inconvenience, just another
tourist gawking at the scene.
Your map doesn’t tell you
who is waiting in the alley.
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