You.

I sat next to a man on the plane tonight who looked like you.
Like you will someday.
Someday, with your wife and a blonde haired baby boy
Who sits on your lap.
Who looks out the window.
Who says, “Look daddy, clouds,” and points.

The You I sat by,
The father, the boy,
Had hands like yours.
Bony and pale,
With wide veins that ran atop them like roots.
Like gopher tunnels atop the skin.

The You I sat by
For those few small hours,
Held his son.
And later on,
Slipped into half sleep with the child in his hands,
And picture books balanced atop his knees.

And this You had a wife who was fresh and plain
And pretty.
She held her son and said, “I love this boy so much,”
She was like yours will someday be.
Will someday be fresh and pretty.

And will not be me.