Her in a tight
black miniskirt
hugging her
hourglass figure
me, scraggly unshaven face
reading a poem about
a radical armchair
my tie dyed shirt is
faded and oversized
even on my expanding belly
She tilts her head
as though examining
my every word
Her eyes are blue
leaving temptation
for comparisons to sky or sea
She doesn’t seem to mind
my balding scalp or even
the expanding waistline
or my eyes badly dilated
by consumption of weed and brandy
I raise and lower my voice
to correspond to the emotions
expressed in the poem
I flail my arms wildly
and nod my head
to accentuate the verse
I steal a momentary glance
into her blue eyes
for a clue
revealing what her
true intentions are
Nothing gained; nothing ventured;
the words of the poem
form on my lips
I seek her attention
through the grandeur
of my performance
and apparently gain it
her eyes follow the words
as they crystalize from
soul to open air
I glance at her nonchalantly;
a dirty poem calls
for an obscene gesture
now she’s either hot to trot
or totally turned off
We’ll know soon enough
in either case
She continues to devour
my performance with
intense eyes suggesting assent
I read my poem alive to her
as the rest of the audience
slips away into
some form of oblivion
In this rapturous moment
she is the sole receiver
of the poetry
and I bide my time
till the end of the performance
and hope we continue
the rapture late into night
https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1094206
bathroomgraffiti 