Autobiographer
       

He wrote and lectured on his life
to escape invention, to reach
down the throat of event
into the minutiae, grip
the simultaneous shards
of each moment: what sock choice
on a Monday morning
scotched his promotion, or what
loose thread in his collar
turned him down the alley
where he cheated on his wife.
But he couldn't tell enough of himself,
or the world, to escape story and plot,
so that one day he just stopped
in the middle of the sidewalk
and looked down, staring
as if he'd lost something so small
he didn't prevent anyone passing by
from treading it underfoot.

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Copyright © 2014 Michael T. Young All rights reserved
from The Beautiful Moment of Being Lost
Poets Wear Prada
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission