Ostrakon (formerly “Clones”)

A tap on your shoulder
brings you face to face
with your clone.

He sits down across from you
at the worn coffeehouse table
and begins.  “Ok, this will sound crazy, I know,

and we don’t have much time, so listen…here’s the short version:
cloning’s been around longer than anyone
knows.  You and I, we’re two of a privileged kind.

I can’t explain more than this right now,
but all of us who’ve been cloned
must choose at some point…You’ve got

five minutes to decide if you want to trade places
with me.”  You see his tailored clothes,
his air of health, his face

exuding the spiritual centering
you wish you had…Sputtering
your demands for an explanation, you stare

at the missing finger, the horrible
scar from the wound running up the back
of his hand and into his sleeve.

“Yes, that’s important, and how I got it
is a part of who you’ll be, part of how I’ve lived,
it’ll be part of how you live

if you choose to be me…but
I can’t explain any more of any of this
until after you choose,

and if you choose to remain in your life,
you will never learn it at all.  So hurry…we’re down
to seconds now…”

You stare at his face,
your face, so perfect, glowing
with what you’ve always wanted:

peace, and security, and joy
contained in every pore.
Your ten fingers tap the table,

your face looks into his,
or his into yours…is this really how
this has to happen? Do you

have to pay a cost
that can be reckoned fully
only after spending it?

You ask yourself, how can you choose
such a thing?  Remain this self or become a better self —
the greatest mystery of all time is here to be solved,

and there are only
seconds to think.
What to decide?

The cleaver is on the table now between you,
his eyes are gentle and clear, and steady on yours.
Who’s going to return to your family tonight?