Poles Apart Poem by David Coldwell

You, the North Star or Polaris;
always present, pinhole light that
inspired generations - anchored
without weight, mysteriously
staying and resisting the urge
to jump free from your moorings.
You question infinity and rule
over concepts. We share your secret
that by some fluke of time and space
coupled with the span of a monkey,
you are nothing but names. Invented.

Me, I work in the shadows
out of sight. Barely visible to the naked eye,
the South Star or Sigma Octantis
to people I’m likely to meet just the once.
Sometimes I might try to impress
by telling lies or ruining the plot. Mostly
I’m ordinary, wearing suits too big
and watching the glitter of everyone’s
life circle around me.