What I find
is that everybody reminds me of somebody:
my sister’s eyes in a stranger’s face,
a new soccer team cloned out of my old school,
the girl who broke my heart and the boy who blacked my eye
reborn and bickering by the photocopier.
Familiar faces under foreign names,
all the same old same old,
new for old,
cycling over the same old ground
for the first time.
I have been around long enough,
to know the types,
to see everyone as ghosts,
to be a ghost
cranking out the old script
on a new set.
You remind me of someone
but you haven’t been you yet.
©2018 Craig Bingham