Wearing My Soul On My Face Poem by Brian Rihlmann

We worked together
in that pizzeria,
back in the kitchen
sweating through
many a dinner rush.

You were clumsy.
You annoyed me
with dumb questions.
You were always in the way,
scrambling to finish a task
as I waited, seething,
my jaw clenched,
but never yelling,
or saying a word.

Then on a slow day
you cornered me,
and asked,
"Why do you hate me? "

Your voice was that
of a sad child,
but your eyes held me
with a man's steady gaze,

as I deflated,
shriveled and sagged,
stumbling over
some bullshit
man to man version of
"It's not you, it's me."

You listened,
and nodded,
then turned
and walked away.

My story wasn't
entirely untrue.

I suppose you annoyed me
because I thought
I'd kicked you out,
years ago,
or they had.

But there you were,
a stray
nipping at my heels,
always underfoot,
tripping me up.

That was ten years ago,
but I still see you
in others,
your question
hanging on their faces.