A Reddish Tint

As if hewn from tough red sandstone,

our shadows betray us by mocking

our age, as if we’ve fossilized.

Not really sandstone but a reddish

tint to a winter day of shopping

and other errands, our bodies

shrived by flu we’ve almost survived.

You criticize my use of “as if”

as if I always want something

to be or become something else.

Our shadows plaster themselves

to a brick wall. There’s the red

I meant. Brick, not sandstone.

Am I literal enough to please you?

Our shadows assume lives of their own.

They dance, flinging their arms about,

wriggling their butts, kicking the air.

We watch, amazed. If I were apt

enough I’d video this performance,

but we’ll have to remember the steps

and complete this early winter dance

where we won’t cast competing shadows.