Look At Me

Throughout my 20s I wasn't single, 
I was abjectly alone. I'd been fortunate 
enough in my teens to persuade a few girls 
to let me in their mouths, and beneath 
their shirts, but even to date my longest 
relationship has been about two months, 
and I mostly do simple human things to preserve 
my at-risk sanity and it more-or-less 
goes according to plan. 

I'll be 40 in a couple months and I pray thanks 
to the tiny god that watches over my life 
that I'm not a stranger to the fairer sex completely. 
Depending on the light of any ephemeral moment, 
I am: Well-groomed and relatively fashionable (I wear 
glasses and shave most every day) or I am awkwardly, 
slovenly taking the scenic route to the grave. 

And I'd like to think my situation was more respectable, that 
a woman cooed and purred when I returned to her, 
or at this point I could make some serious attempt 
at surrender. But the lustfully determined teenage voice 
always comes back and I thank the god again that women 
look at me at all. 




**** 

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