Different then
By Craig Kirchner
 

“I was a different person then.”

A line from a movie.

I don’t remember the title, the actor,

the context, I was surfing movie channels,

but it stuck. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

There is so much, so many realms to explore.

Different how?  By what standards, and then,

by decade, starting with teen years,

or categorized by which car I owned.

The man he was in the Chevelle years.

There were stages, phases, transitions,

playing different roles depending on the room,

the job, testosterone. I thought I was best

when I could show I didn’t need approval,

pretend to be unaffected, unconcerned.

Chronologically, characteristically

would require a bio, this wants to be a poem,

the moments I was most different than this,

the most magnanimous of humans scribbling

this ode now, this memorial to a then.

The pen, pad and even the desk and lamp,

think this ridiculous, that I should have watched

the movie instead of getting introspective

and egotistical, that this is something I should be writing

on a cocktail napkin, with a Chivas and water.

I don’t smoke, drink, or do drugs anymore

but I did, often, and it blurred the territory.

I need to guard against the consternation

of my office team - and there it is, guard.

I was a Pinkerton, with a uniform,

a guard house at the entrance to a power plant,

midnight to morning, no one else is part of your life.

The Pinkerton poet was different then, reading

Kafka and Shakespeare out loud to stay awake,

to the smartest mouse in Dundalk.