Dear You,

You saw me sitting in the Secaucus Dunkin' Donuts;
Joan Baez tears, polka dotted blush, Howdy Doody cheeks.
Harrowing coffee breath seeping out of saggy load men lurking over me.
Systemic problems.
Panic would probably shut down this place for good.
I stick my tongue in your Jelly centered curiosity;
float into a Vanilla Bean Coolatta; skim my aulait.
Foamed elbows; cinnamon fingers point spots on your lenses.
I saw you there; carnal bantering through thick long distance goggles.
Exaggerated invisibility.
I told you I would always be here.
The old men fondle my cappuccino, tickle you.
You are ridiculously squeamish about my sensuality; assume I am one of them.
You will never know for sure. I'm unable and unwilling to cross lines.
Did you think I couldn't see you, your hand caressing my breast
through the cavern in my chest?
You begged to elope with my thoughts and feelings.
I allowed you that marriage. I didn't need them anymore anyway.
The “caked with soot and dust” removed the ring.
I threw it in the Hudson across from the Empire State Building.
There you stood “Sleepless in Seattle,”an object of my telescopic sensibility.
You were always the romantic one.
But you ain't no Tom Hanks, not even my Little Big Man.
Whistle dust whispers from your nostrils; telling her I've compromised my values
exchanging Dunkin' Donuts for a New Orleans PJ’s or even a Starbucks.
You seduce her with my poetry written on napkins;
powdered sugar paragraphs. The period of the napkin... sanitary.
You sneeze over them before the syllables soil your life;
turn up your nose in distaste as I bask in the faint aroma of rationalization.
Not that you could, but you would steal my words, chew them into tiny pieces
and spit them into the Mississippi...once again.
All waters flow into one another. I will get them back.
It’s just a part of the mystique of feminine power and privilege.
Ask the lazy packs of heavily made up females who meander about you.
You lie, protected under the shade of a short round brown skinned diva.
Stealing tends to make better drama.
There are countless willing victims.
It is just a game in the end.
I am never quite sure what direction to take for the hunt.
The best reason for thinking I have not thought of as yet.
It’s all in the mind.

Smiling in unison,

Me

10/21/2014

Posted on 10/21/2014
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