Phone Poem
You've asked me enough times about
my inner knowledge of man
that by now I know that any
of it is not instinct
but learned, and badly so.
My credit check before each
of your dates is a poor reference.
I cannot be your Casanova commentator
I have never picked pussies like posies
from my school yearbooks
or a website of the desperate,
and I have the body, hairline,
and bankroll of a poet, not its soul.
I can't pick a bar predator from a
pretzel at first glance.
Your savior will come with or without
my blessing or my sneer
(or, at least, he'd better).
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