In Confidence (Poetry)

I met God one August afternoon
in nineteen-ninety-six —
I was turning the corner of the corridor
and there he was —
an old man shuffling along
the beige linoleum with sticks.

‘And how are you?’ he asked
as if he didn’t know.
I answered ‘So-so...’ shrugged
a little baffled
by the conversation’s ordinary feel
despite what surely was a rare occasion.

‘Which one of us is real?’ —
I watched him closely — anxious
for the truth of what I feared —
he seemed to ponder for a moment
and scratched his stubbled cheek
then his expression cleared —

‘Confidentially, neither of us actually exists,’
he told me in a whisper —
‘But don’t let on or it will only freak the rest...’
A pause for understanding passed between —
‘Okay,’ I said — the secret like a monumental stone
‘See you...’ Then I blinked
                                and God was gone.