Did Everett ever figure on the many people
of his many worlds trading places?
Briefly, discreetly, the self conscious self
finds himself in the world of the rogue who shares
his face – the world of a red headed stripper
whose skin smells like weed and whose gaze peers
outside of her own existence into that of another
version of herself. And the cocksure rogue finds himself
seated at the foot of the bed of a ten-year-old girl
who calls him daddy, asks for a bedtime story, a kiss goodnight.
He can think of no story that does not involve drinking
or women, and the self conscious self does not know
how to act during a lap dance, whether or not to tip
extra. Did Everett ever figure he could blame his shortcomings
on physics? Or did he say he was sure
he was a better man in a different world?
