I shiver down the street, fingers

a-sweat, feet fumbling; I adopt

a worried face, please let no

glances leer toward me, let me

hear no regular thud of following

footsteps, it is the ritual

of passing face to face, the swift

meeting of eyes that I most frantically

dread, shall I cough to show

I am ill and not worth noticing?

shall I feign fascination

with the pavement-search for ?

cigarette, rearrange my parcels,

or shall I look this next one

in the face? then shall I

smile, hello, isn't it nice we're

both people, or think deeply,

or be reserved and expressionless?

the mind snaps to in an instant.

I form a face and all

is well; the brittle smile was

received and answered with a softening

of the mouth in the white face.

the punctuating red lipstick of this

maroon matron, a net over her eyes

as if drawn in delicate ink.

for a minute I can relax and notice

and be grateful it was this easy

this time, but not too long:

I must find my next guise so subtly

that no one will see me change, above

above all, they must never see fear

or they will know, they will

know and sniff me out

from my warmed locked room

where I breathe in secret.

whey will be so clever and bring

a wire clipper to snap

the chain across the door

after slashing the telephone

wire and cracking the lock, they will know

by my eyes that I know they are the one

who will attempt and succeed, and so

I concentrate and pretend

my life is so free

I never imagine myself the victim

of the person I would be

if I were differently mad.