The Presentation

She laughs, but not with her eyes,
which widely bear down on mine:
desperate with feigned confidence,
tinged with distracted desire--then
on to the next face, and the next,
before clicking back to me. I meet
her gaze evenly, unspeaking, offer
an attentive face from the crowd.
Happy with my bureaucratic excuse
to look unfettered at a pretty face,
I’m waiting for the meeting's end, for

the next thing, and the next, until
I click back home at night, feeling
vacant toward familiar faces, which
often for obscure reasons, I avoid.

The news proclaims another man
met ruin for some lust-filled act; and
in between the faces of my worlds,
I imagine myself in such a place.
The scene opens: I have found
success, and fame, and riches,
which in movies associates with
easy sex and women, of course.
But the dawn of wealth brings
no girls with kind desires for me;
no gentle flirts to capture all my
vacant thoughts, nor coy smiles
to inflate my vacant heart. And yet
what I have has no mystery; while
to what intrigues me, I have no right.
The weak man's simple conceit--to
gaze in silence, never to touch--seems
incomplete now, surrounded by this
newfound glitz and glamour. How did
this impoverished desire survive
my overwhelming wealth and fame?!
--And yet it does, and crushes all...

Snapping back, I drop this gaze,
ashamed even of the line of thoughts,
and wait for the pretty face to let us go.
I'll hold a familiar hand tonight, and gaze
unfettered at the pretty face I know.




nov 2017