I fancy myself an enigma.
_           _On my best days
I manage to keep the world off-guard—
_           _What I say
Does not follow from what I said yesterday.
_           _Or the message in my clothes
Is somehow inconsistent with my face—
_           _A banker’s striped suit
Under shades and a flashy pompadour.

_           _Around me
People must continually readjust;
_           _I force them
Always to approach me on my own terms—
_           _Only I keep
Changing those terms, keep shifting ground.
_           _Around me
The angle of incidence does not equal
_           _The angle of reflection.

It’s not that I have any secrets,
_           _Or a secret life;
If anything, my life’s what’s left in the shell
_           _After the clam’s been eaten—
So I arrange to have many lives, many stories,
_           _All of them plausible
—Taken one by one—but not quite adding up.
_           _It’s a lot of work,
Yet the looks I get, the odd questions I’m asked,

_           _Would repay any trouble . . .
Sometimes when I’m very tired I think
_           _How nice it must be
Just to trot out this year’s model and keep him there.
_           _But then I remember
What I’ve gained: to be all men at once,
_           _Without being anyone—
And I recall the danger too: staying put is like asking
_           _The world to do you in.

But these aren’t real issues anymore.
_           _All problems stopped
Right after my order was delivered from the Institute,
_           _Two huge bundles
Wrapped tight in black paper and cold to touch—
_           _My contact had insisted
“One to a customer,” but I cheated a bit,
_           _Claimed I was twins,
Identical twins, so he sent a pair.

_           _Unpacked, released
From their tubs of dry ice, even as they stood
_           _Frozen and immobile
I could see they were marvels: whole, self-
_           _Sustaining universes
Of cells spun from two of mine, my equals down to
_           _The last hair and birthmark;
And thawed, breathing freely, they lacked only a history.
_           _—Such details

Are absorbed more easily than you’d think:
_           _Like me, they’re fast
Studies; hardly a week of pleasantly intense
_           _Afternoons goes by,
And provided with the necessary names,
_           _A few photographs,
Some not entirely congruent “facts,” and the basic
_           _Rules of presentation,
They seem more emphatically me than I’ve ever felt.

_           _I have great plans for us—
One I’m coaching so that soon
_           _He’ll be a star;
Every night in clubs he gets applause for singing my songs:
_           _“When the smack
Begins to flow then I really don’t care anymore.”
_           _Or “Every time I phone you
I just want to put you down”—exhilarating words,
_           _So angry and bitter

I’d be afraid to say them in real life.
_           _The other’s
Just received his second promotion at the bank,
_           _And there’s talk
He’ll be a vice president before he’s forty . . .
_           _But I don’t have to do anything.
I can read all night, listen to records, or drink,
_           _Without worrying
Whether I’ll be able to go to work in the morning.

_           _It doesn’t matter
If I get up, or what I eat, or how I look—
_           _I’m completely free.
No matter what I do, my life goes on without me!
_           _Sometimes in disguise
I visit them—to check up or keep in touch—
_           _And request a song, or a loan.
They usually indulge me. Has any father
_           _Ever been this proud?

And always I’m amazed at how effortlessly they handle
_           _All that I’ve found impossible—
Through long distracting lunches with my mother
_           _They smile and hold their tempers;
They remember birthdays, keep appointments, pay bills;
_           _I’m never feeling well,
But they’re healthy—moderate habits, exercise, periodic
_           _Trips to a doctor.
In their hands, my life positively hums.

_           _Yes, things are looking up.
I sense that everyone is talking about us.
_           _Word’s come back to me
That the inevitable double sighting has taken place . . .
_           _Imagine trying to explain that.
And in the paper I see that one of us has broken
_           _Off an engagement—
That’s the spirit! She’s not good enough,
_           _Hold out for bigger stakes!

I joke—what could make me happier?
_           _One of us
Must settle down soon and start a family;
_           _What we have
Is too rich, too perfect just to pass away.
_           _But I want the last
Word here too: when I die, I’ve asked them to bury me
_           _Quietly, anonymously,
And go on as if nothing’s happened.