My Doppelgänger

A dozen dead-ends later
I found my better self,
Hiding in reflections,
Or somewhere on your shelf.

He blanked me at our café,
Your hand upon his arm;
He filled our box at Othello;
I hammered a theatre alarm.

Infused by choice and chances,
Gods have quirks of humour;
I did not know I’d been stolen
Until I read those rumours

In headlines in his grasp.
I hemorrhaged poems and songs,
He’s gone researching romance
And my cortège won’t be long.

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