The Real One

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I could never sit still in class,

although I faked

paying attention quite well,

and that's how I learned 

that we are really two people 

not one; the real one 

flies through the cosmos   

at light speed

and returns to Earth younger 

than the other one

who fidgets in place

and ages.

The real one,

just outside the window,

drifts like an autumn leaf 

on a swirling gust 

of wind, dizzy,

colourful and light, 

while the other one hears

Force equals Mass times 

Acceleration.

The real one 

has no credentials.

And one day the other one

will wake up 

next to the woman you love

and let it slip

that all these years

she’s been sleeping

with an imposter,

but he will tell her not to fear

because like Inspector Clouseau,

the real one 

is on the case.