An Intimate Stranger Poem by Allan Thorne

There was a time
When nobody knew
To much about anybody else.
You rode into town
Told people who
You were
And that was that.
When things
Went to hell
You went on
To the next town
And told them
Whatever you wanted.
You were free.

But
Things change
Finger prints,
Computer records,
Satellite images,
The seemingly
Endless electronic
Thread we play out
Behind us as we wander
The labyrinth,
Conspires to bind us
And force us to
Face the consequences
Now they know
just about everything from
Your shoe size to
Whether you are
Or have ever
Worn
Underwear.

All of it! !

There was a time when your identity was your own affair;
Something of value that was revealed to you
That you revealed to trusted others slowly
Over time
And the revelation would set you free.

Now things have changed.
You don’t want people to know who you are
You probably don’t want to know who you are.
It will only be used against you.

A rose is a rose
By any other name
Is free to be
What ever it
Wants to be
Or not to be.

Get two
Get three
Get as many
ID’s as you can
Have your face
Redone every five years.
Forget your name
So you won’t
Have to lie
When they ask you.

And where does this leave us
dear friends
I have shown you things,
You have shown me things,
Things that I would not want to show
My wife
My mother
My children
I have told you things
I would not want the people
I know to know.
You know these things
But I remain a stranger
Someone you could pass on the street unnoticed.
An intimate stranger
And maybe that is
The best that can be done.
In these troubled times.