Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Second-hand veneer

I               First Attraction

 
It always has been personal with you. 
An aura (whether really there or conjured)
Hangs about your torpid form –but not the same
As in that first encounter when I saw

You standing in the corner like a man
Down on his luck but proud, defying odds;
Some thing about your style and your stance
I thought I recognised – a whiff, a hint

Of akubra hat silk tie shoe polish
Cigarette. Clearly you did not belong
In this tawdry room, with this trashy crowd
So I took you home with me, recklessly

Naively planning like the greenest bride
For your domesticated resurrection.

II             Disappointment


It wasn’t long before the rot set in:
Surface scratches showed where shadows had
Hid a mottled territory of scar, buckled
spine and sagging shoulders that showed their age.

I could comprehend these imperfections
Hunted as I am also by the years
But when the layer of enchantment left
I wanted to accuse you of deceit:

All my bright and pretty things, like second skins
I’ve handed over, daily this routine,
And though you do return them undisturbed - 
yet - an air of uncherished feeling clings.

Why can you not whisper when I touch you?
Must you croak and groan? Where is the easy
Bonhomie, the open hand with which he gave –
at least to me, as I remember him?


And so I pine and slam your door.

Where has the scent I loved of Old Spice gone?