The Doppelganger
Someone wearing my coat was seen downtown,
walking the block where I usually turn around,
same height, same walk, same tilt of the head,
my neighbor saw him and thought I was dead.
Because he looked like me but something was off,
the way he held his hands, the way he scoffed,
at the coffee shop waitress who asked his choice,
and she said later he had my exact voice.
The doppelganger is out in my world,
wearing my posture, my fingers curled,
around a life that he did not earn,
living the habits I never unlearn.
I see the trail that he leaves behind,
the impression that sits at the edge of my mind,
the doppelganger is taking my place,
and he is doing it at a comfortable pace.
At night I check the mirror to make sure,
my reflection moves when I move, no more,
but some nights the timing is a half beat late,
and I stand there trying to calculate,
which of us is the original thing,
which one hears the echo before the ring,
the doppelganger or the man in the glass,
and which of us is moving through the other’s past.