Spy
There is no magic in my eyes,
my presbyopic leer
can't ever read between your lies
my paranoiac dear.
You're not transparent as you fear.
Your skull's not glass, it's bone.
It's not my voice you think you hear
when you are all alone.
Your thoughts don't ride a microwave
to creep into my head.
I've no antenna in a cave
or underneath my bed.
My ears don't have the gift of flight;
my vision doesn't crawl.
When you're not in my line of sight,
I don't see you at all.
Karen Tellefsen
kat2@mindspring.com