Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Don't Hate Old Women

Faces allude me like
the point I wanted to make while you
were talking,  but I forgot what it was.

It was just there on the horizon
at the edge of my mind.
But I couldn’t grab it fast enough
when I saw it go over the side
into the void
of genius thoughts that never
come to fruition.

Such a loss for humanity.

Faces will be young or old,
brown or beige or pink.
Unless there are moles or scars
or big jug ears,
the faces remain nameless.

Pretty faces are the worst.
Generic in their fortunate beauty,
pop stars in blonde
and various shades of brown
and actors
on films who are interchangeable,

But you think me a racist
because your handsome, brown man
eluded me.
His face as beautiful as the son.

But you would have eluded me as well.
You, with your posse of comeliness,
had I not laid eyes on you
so many times before,

training my brain in recognition.

All of you ...  tanned and thin with long
golden-brown hair , chiseled features.
You look the same to me.
So I must be a misogynist too.

Faces blur together.
The names are worse when I call
them out loud.
And they are wrong. 

Soooo wrong.
To see a face many times,
yet still fail  in the naming …
not to be forgiven I suppose.
It must indicate narcissism,
lack of care. It must be
or rude disregard.

I will answer to anything. 
I will answer to anyone.
Even the waiters ignore me
as we share this restaurant.
Excuse me,
Who did you say you were?
Did you say?
For I do not know


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