There is always a man
Who speaks to himself
On our subway ride
To Osgoode
Or Wilson.
He’ll arise from his seat
To address an invisible reflection
Of himself
That dangles in the air.
While passengers sit and stare,
Avoiding eye contact with
This “strange” man
I sit in neutrality because
I was taught of duende:
A driving spirit whom
Interrogates you and inspires you.
Even you have experienced duende:
When you’re doing the dishes
Or speaking of the day to no one–
Duende rests on your shoulder
Answering your questions
Only in your head.
The more you speak to him the larger he grows,
Until he manifests himself before you,
By then it is far too late
As he becomes your best comrade
And the greatest listener.
Because of this I never stare
Never pity
Or judge.
I simply sit in neutrality knowing that
This is not a man
But a man’s duende
Attempting to understand
The yelling man trapped

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