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The Outsider
by
Audrey Deakin

 

I know nothing of the world,
live under an old glass dome, filled with stuffed
birds and other dusty things,
a museum in miniature.

Like a hermit crab, I pop my head out now
and then to test the water,
to confront the alien race
that lives outside my sphere.
I wear dark glasses
so no one can make eye-contact.

They say I don’t understand.
They say I am the alien …
and like all things different, am ignored,
laughed at
or stamped under foot.

Wounded, I retreat back to my shell,
give it a lick of paint,
re-arrange the birds,
and settle back with a grateful sigh
into blessed incomprehension.
--Submitted by Aspen on 2013-11-24.
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