ODE TO ROBERT DE NIRO

Deep in the heart of New York, deep
in that foreign land, your father -
like mine here - lived out his life.
On opposite sides of the Atlantic
those parallel, yet disparate lives
instilled into each of us unique aspirations
through childhood, adolescence and beyond,
that made us who we are today.

You found fame, are celebrated worldwide
for your trademark brand of gangland violence.
But I have glimpsed something else
embedded in that shocking façade -
an inner sensitivity: a contradiction
that mirrors my psyche's painful longing
for something you could never feel
for a mediocre English poet.

Still, you are as close to me as the heart
beating inside my thorax; as my complicated need
to see your eyes focus on mine; to hear my name
spoken in your distinctive accent.
Please
           let deja vu kick in...

mine is the face that crops up
often in the background of your dreams:
barely noticed, soon forgotten,
yet persistent -
because energy follows thought...

and I am the stranger who shares your life,
distantly, in another time zone.
I think they call me "fan".