I am an orphan in lovely clothes, clear-skin smile,
thinking of home in a friendly village
that wishes closeness of family,
that sees only parents, clinging children
and couples with heads bent down together --
halfways of kissing pairs.
all i see are fathers --
these men in the corner, cutting hair,
on big bikes, on cars with open windows,
short-haired shadows behind curtains,
drinking buddies, goateed, and some clean-shaven,
balding men, and yes, even young men my age.
we are father and son, separated
lost somewhere sometime
while playing chess in cold rooms
and basketball in lonely parks
from where i cannot find home --
the streets are confusing
