The Imaginary Man (Afterword)

I was not exactly
what was ordered, so

I was imagined to be
another.

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

to be
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.