308/365: The Same Game
There is a man in the hotel
who pretends to be here on business
with a phone held to his ear.
He talks to his voices through it
with a quiet confidentiality.
He knows every mad person on the street
is just a businessman missing
a pressed suit and a cellphone.
With rough hair and drunk eyes,
he will be out next week
asking for food for invented children,
but today his shoes are shined.
He waves at me with a tick of two fingers
and the subtle wink of conspirators,
because he knows:
we are in the same game.