This Side of Paradise
Let us go then, you and I, she saysAnd leads me down the marble steps
To the main hall where the shuffling feet
Of the service staff, like a chorus, sing
About the state of the evening.
They part like waves when she walks and beckons
Me to follow, my feet take charge
While my mind slips out to remain at large,
Only to trip and fall.
She notices. Asks, “What is it?
Let us go and make our visit.”
In the room the servers come and go,
Repeating orders soft and slow.
The grey fog outside attacks the window pane,
Rubs its whole back against the window pane,
But the heat within keeps it off. It falls
And scurries away to lick its wounds. I stare
Until her familiar voice, dim then loud, pulls
My ears and attention onto the conversation.
I flash a smile to hide my consternation.
Indeed there will be time
To get used to the flashy ornaments,
The clean, white teeth, the suits
So freshly pressed, the hair slicked back
And the hats and classy clothes
Multiplying upon each other in droves.
There will be time, there will be time,
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet,
But her face grows annoyed at my insincerity
And walks away to talk among her friends
Before the having of dinner and drinks.
In the room the servers come and go,
Repeating orders soft and slow.
Indeed there really is time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and ascend the stair.
Instead I sit my ass on a chair
And people watch, as though on a beach
But on low tide. She drifts away.
Sings to new ears. Causes laughter.
Oh, there looks to be one chasing after
More than an audience’s role.
His collar mounting firmly to the chin,
His necktie rich and asserted by a flamboyant pin.
Do I dare
Disturb her universe?
In a minute there will be time
For decisions and revisions which may not be reversed.
For I have known already, known just how
I don’t belong. Not here nor near her presence.
I am a pet turned lover and I have measured
How long my time will be around her orbit.
I think I shall be falling soon.
Still, should I presume?
But I saw their eyes already, saw it then,
Walking behind her, beside her, when her friends,
Basked her in warmth and joy, turning to me,
Gave a once-over with frigid intensity
Then spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways.
Still, should I presume?
And I’ve seen my clothes already. Oh, the mess:
My whole outfit a bit underdressed,
My sleeves uneven, my pants’ length
Sing bought not tailored, and my shoes,
Although I shined them, seem black holes before
So many oxfords, brogues, mules and clogs.
Still, should I presume?
And how should I begin?
Begin to say:
I am not like you at all. I am not like you at all.
I come from narrow streets where huffy men
Smoke cigarettes outside, hiding from their wives.
Speaking of.
Let me slip outside.
I need a cigarette.
Poetry by Sameen
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Written on 2026-03-30 at 18:09
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Melinda K Zarate |
