The Other One

The window of the hardware store

showed me a version of myself

that didn't wait for the light to change.

He stepped off the curb while I stayed back,

his jacket flapping like a loose shutter.

At the bus stop, a woman yelled "Marcus"

and for a second, my lungs filled up

with a name that isn't mine.

I went home and looked at the hallway.

There are two hooks by the door.

One holds my wool coat,

the other is just a piece of brass

holding onto the shadow of a twin

who never actually arrived.