Understudy (Poetry)

Almost subconsciously
I have made a bid for invisibility
words come from the air
I do not know
who put them there

He’s speaking now
I catch the echoes while I try
to see his mouth —
the dead man talking to his slave
who hardly tires of listening

I cannot claim the rights
to all these impromptu parodies that clamour
wreck my nights
with longing —
                how he shouts
his quiet passion
and promises he’ll come again
to take the credit —
                        shield me from his fame