The Outsider

I am on the other
side of your stained
glass architecture.

I am always looking
in. Shaking hands
that don't know me

beyond the skin.
But you wave to me
anyhow, smile, scream

my name like Hannah
Montana just came
back from the dead.

When the choreography
is over, the jazz hands,
the good byes, I wander

back home to my little
apartment in Mishawaka
where, again, I am

on the other side
of your stained glass
architecture looking in

from the window
of my own hometown.