to a young girl

September 24, 2017 at 5:47 pm Leave a comment

to a young girl

young girl, you are far
too attractive as you smile at me. surely you can’t
want me:
balding, unhandsome, nearly wordless for all the
words i have.
yet i can’t but dream

of caressing your
shallow breasts, of knowing
those private words
and gestures; your form-revealing
jeans entrance me, truly…

imagining kissing you,
cupping your breasts
i make no motion,
no sound. some prey is so fragile,
it not only can never be captured;

it can never be pursued.

________________________________________________
NOTE: that young girl was about 20 and hotly pursuing me, in her mind at least; she was the top female student my last year of college, and I was nearly 50. I was one of the top 2 male students, although not at that pinnacle; she’d seen and heard me in World History–which I could have challenged, but I wanted that two years of insulation from the unlettered [an admittedly pointless prejudice that I couldn’t escape just then] quite desperately. I never had to take a test there in any case, because I knew far too much; the teacher wanted me to challenge it and major in something other than psychology; he and others figured that either literature or history should be good and I’d find instant interest. I was afraid of that same insulation for too long, simply because academia tends to rely on agreed symbols rather than observations and possibly repetitive testing.

 

The mention of breasts came because it was early summer in Oregon and she was dressed and had been in the ordinary skimpy attire.  I found out her attraction because of one withering look from her, on graduation day; the mutual thought was “Way, way too late, stupid.”  The woman whose face I couldn’t recall in a recently posted (and recently written) poem had happened, and I’d sworn never to love a woman again in that way.  Unfortunately, when I make most resolutions, I don’t ever change them or forget to follow them–I can’t forget them and I rarely can change or dismiss them.

 

Her name wasn’t spelled Caroline as I found out afterward, but that’s how it was pronounced.  It’s one of those English names with numerous spellings but extremely similar pronunciations.

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, On Truth, poetry, voices. Tags: , .

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