Coming To You Live

By: Salvatore Difalco

The fingers go numb before long.
The clacking begins to wear thin.
And yet I arrive without incident
ready to settle this business.
Tell me I look different to you
than I did the last time we met.
You were doing this thing with
your hands I failed to understand,
blame me for misinterpreting it
as an intimation of violence.
As it stands, we have two bits
between us and the flame of a blue
Bic lighter for our warmth.
Makes little sense to claim damages
before the end of the trip.
Yes, we have been harmed
by all the shitty commentary,
but blood remains in your veins
and no one has hauled out
the mop and pans of bleach.
If I reach out to you during
a moment of weakness, don’t mistake
it for a nod to your higher
station. We are the same.
That is, I am you and you are me
no matter how you mask
your voice or paint your face.


Salvatore Difalco is a Sicilian Canadian retired counsellor for incarcerated high risk youth who has turned to poetry to rhythmically vent his demons and what remains of his better angels. He lives in Toronto, Canada. His work has appeared in a number of journals.

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