Fictional Love Story #5 (For My Friend Dierdre)

When I met you

at the album signing,

I’m sorry that I was kind of rude.

I’m sure you weren’t expecting me to

deftly pluck several of your arm hairs

with a small pair of hidden tweezers,

shout, “Thank you!” and run away.

You said, “Ow!” and then “Hey!”

And I heard several onlookers gasp,

but I evaded security,

and now, finally, I can clone you.

Don’t even ask me how I can do it.

It’s a complicated process.

But it creates a real person,

a fully formed adult,

like Aphrodite molded from sea foam.

He will be you, but not you,

genetically identical in every way

but not necessarily the same.

He will look just the same as you,

have your same height and build

and same dark brown eyes.

I would guess he’d have your voice,

but I don’t know if he’ll have your ability to sing.

I don’t know if he’ll share your addictions,

or if he’ll die of them.

Maybe there are other unpleasant things we will saddle him with,

unintentionally,

like heart disease in his 60s

or doom him to some kind of cancer.

But for at least a while he’ll be perfect.

He may not have your personality,

sense of humor or ambition.

I wonder if he’d share your childhood abandonment issues,

even though he’d never know what it would be

to have parents.

Maybe he’ll want to become a real estate agent

or have a burning passion for insurance law.

I only hope that I don’t grow bored with him,

or I’ll have to make him some kind of starlet

to keep him company.

So once again, I apologize.

It was not how I wanted our first meeting to go,

but you can see now why it was necessary.

I doubt you’ll ever run into him,

but it could happen, I suppose.

Maybe he’ll have a much different haircut

or sense of style.

You probably wouldn’t believe it if you saw him.

You’d blink a couple of times behind your designer sunglasses,

and then he’d be gone.