Poem: Unflattering

The Changeling game went well. When I finish everything else, I will have to write a summary. This means, I will never write a summary.

This is admittedly a little weird, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone. Erm...there's a bit of us in every character we create.

*****
Unflattering

A small man
making peace with the kindred hours of the evening
A shirt down his pants, pushing buttons
to find something that will make it wet.
Close-ups of lycra-covered bulges
are too impersonal
and images of tanned women licking cherries lips
are too insincere
He rolls the idea of something substantial between his fingers
but the last time
he paid a girl to make him breakfast
she couldn't remember the name to whisper
and she burnt the eggs, which still showed a bit of white
She took the money and left
when he said it looked like a blended honeybee.
That idea ended with the slamming of a recalled door
and he decides to take control,
a point which always comes but he always hopes to avoid.
A small man,
hands stuffed in shirt in pants,
making peace with being alone.