I was not exactly
what was ordered, so
I was imagined to be
I was imagined to be a good man,
good enough at least
to be loved a little here and there.
(Or, imagined to be a good enough fake good man
fake-loved here and there.)
When all were done with me
(and all were done with me a long time
before the body was done with either
my real me or their imagined me)
I wondered, often,
if I’d stopped entirely —
it felt that way often enough.
Tony Brown, it seemed,
was too simple a name
in which to maintain belief for long.
But then I felt and now I feel a little real, though,
even now after the fact
that all have ended their
imagining. Maybe I can be
an unimagined self, now —
fire, my fire, not anyone else’s hot air.