Men in the World

I pause my car so that a man can cross to Pier One in front of me. He's middle-aged, slender, has one crutch.

Looks like a client.

In line at the bank, a 40-something lawyer flirts with the tellers, they tease him about his new haircut. He's tall, paunchy without being fat, his haircut is just a tad short at one temple, exposing his hairline creep.

I bet you've hired girls.

A young guy passes me my change at the mini-mart. Tattoos, earrings, probably pierced where I can't see.

You don't have the cash.

At the grocery store, I walk the aisles, looking for milk, Nyquil, kielbasa to cut up into the soup already started at home. I pass men in produce, bakery, the cola aisle.

You could have me.
You could have me.
You could have me.

In the parking lot, the standard looks, my standard response - smile, drop eyes, look left and down. One calls out, "Hey, do redheads really have more fun?" I laugh the fake 'Aren't you cute' laugh, a short bark, then think better of it and smile for real.

You could have me.

It's like a secret power, I'm invisible, I can fly, I can bend steel bars and you don't know it. Longing, hard-on, loneliness all around me.

If only you asked the right question I could solve your problem like that.