The man in front of the ice cream store
is covered with tattoos: stars and planets
orbit his wrists, a bouquet of roses blooms
from the open neck of his shirt, snakes
wind around his arms. I hurry along thinking
what delicate science attraction is, then strangely
of him curled up, sleeping. And then of you,
vulnerable in sleep, unreachable—not so different
from your waking hours. The tattooed man
is searching for connection, reaction,
and by some bad luck singles me out.
Oh, we’re a barful of mixed liquors, driven to combine
and recombine, which must be why I’m staring.
Remember? You once called the human race
bags of chemicals, and all my yearnings became
undiscussable, just like that. Your silence,
my ache to talk—two different ways to say lonely.
And this man’s illustrated body says lonely,
says save me from my lonely self. He’s speaking
for us today brushing shoulders with strangers,
our plain, speechless arms swinging us forward,
keeping our distance, holding us back.
He looks scary, but I want to like him. Or, I like him
and it scares me. I can’t help watch his snake dance.
It’s repulsive. If I kissed it would I close my eyes?
I slip past into the street, so much of me wanting to try.
Originally Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 2.
