'He's a very hot-'n'-cold
kind of man'. I assert, bold.
'Maybe,' you reply, your face
dull, not amused, and straight.
'he just doesn't like you'.
To this rebuttal, I cackle,
because Heaven forbid
that someone take one look --
one tiny, little expression --
at me, and, with merely
the whiff of a nostril,
they conclude an ideal.
Heaven forbid that the girl --
or charming, sharp-toothed man --
who I've had an interest in,
instead looks to me with the kind of chagrin
from the negative variety
where a guy like me could never win.
Heaven forbid that I
didn't walk right
on a Saturday afternoon
conducting another tiring adventure
to get some food.
Heaven forbid that I didn't
know the lines of a famous, Hispanic play,
or quote Star Wars in just the right way!
No, indeed, Heaven does a terrible, glib
job at forbidding this kind of shit.
The one where -- and it's always ironic --
the quiet girl
who claims to hate judgement
gives me, a total, welcoming stranger
the glare of eternal punishment.
What did I do in a past life?
Should I have put the rock down
and, instead, murdered Abel with a knife?
Do you believe in hate at first sight?
Well, better than to waste my time
or so I try
to rationalize
the arbitrary dislikes
from strangers.
I guess I
am unlikable.
YOU ARE READING
This Gray, Unfortunate Place (2)
PoetryPoetry that straggles the heartstrings. (You don't have to have read the first book.)
