I AM THE URGE
to sign my name
E. Martin Pedersen

I am coincidently standing in the same spot as my body
reading the list of coffees in foreign script
the sandwich boy calls me “Bro” though my real name is “Grumpy”
I must choose between cheddar, jack, and swiss
I can choose, I do
I am articulate, wielding semiotic influence
to make the sandwich girl laugh, I say “Brussels sprouts,”
See? I am not a ghost.

I am wealthy, this cup warming my hands belongs to me
(not to the sunburnt man on the curb)
its tension becomes my tension
as I wheel off to meet blonds, eddies, corridors, Buddhists, seabirds, metaphors, fogbanks
I make a contract with myself—
That’s how important I am.

I am the tight string that over the years will bend the cellist’s fingers,
As always cello, listener, and song.

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