Portland
It never snows here.
Now it is snowing.
The hotel bar is crowded.
No one’s on the streets.
He says,
“Come with me to my ship.”
He’s a freighter captain.
On board, he begs,
“Spend the night!”
On a freighter?
He takes me out to breakfast.
We wander in the snow.
Back home, my friend asks,
“Did you get laid?”
I laugh.
Throughout my life, I seem to experience what I call encounters: meeting people I never saw before and having some type of connection with them. Various things occur under these circumstances. Sometimes I keep in contact for at least a while with these people and sometimes not. This week I am going to post several of these poems. Here is the first one.
In Line at a Fast Food Restaurant
Caramel eyes
glowing in a brown face
Panama hat
Intricately carved silver cross
Crisp, snowy linen shirt
No collar
Slacks loose.
He’s lost weight.
I think,
“Gorgeous brown man.”
He says,
“In case no one has told you lately,
you’re gorgeous!”
He walks off to meet
the pregnant woman in the corner.
Who are you?
Are you
who you
say you are?
Is your profile
a lie to
attract the gullible
or your heart’s
outpourings,
your soul
open
for all
to see?
Will you tell me
truths or
lies copied
off a website
designed for predators
cleverly disguised?
Will we dream of
touching,
mouth to mouth
passion,
bodies hungry
or perhaps
a relapse
into despair,
malaise?
Will we grow
to love
happiness
or to cynicism,
disillusionment,
a lie?
“True Love. Is it normal…?”
Wislawa Szymborska
Who gets it?
Does it descend
like lightning
striking
only the lucky?
Is it a curse,
a blessing,
a gift?
Me, I’m clueless.
I think perhaps my parents had it.
I don’t.
Never had
or did I miss it,
the strike
the blinding?
Lust I understand.
True Love??
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