Saturday, December 14, 2013


I think we'd make a nice couple:
if he were an 11th grade English Lit Teacher
at an elite private school in NYC,
or an Adjunct Professor of Ethics
at a 4th tier public university.

I think we'd make a nice couple:
if ever I answered a modeling ad perused in the NY Post
 staring at my mirror vanity,
finger combing my frizzy, unbraided hair
softening it with baby oil to shine and straighten it 
while reciting lines from the Obsession TV commercials. 

If I were a bona-fide writer, 
such whimsical fantasies make sense.
If I were paid to write things--interesting things
about people who aren't Social Workers
who've had nervous brake-down(s) [plural]

Not the type to live a mute life in the Miami suburbs
with their Bermudan Aircraft Mechanic husband,
 and two handsome, lean, and inquisitive young boys,
who are both autistic,
and have a really hard time expressing themselves. 

If I stayed single, and chose not to marry, chose not to have kids,
dropped out of college to become a model, or an actress, or a writer,
maybe a correspondent
I think we might have met at a party, at a political event,
or at a bar in West Hollywood,
and someone might notice, "hey, they'd make a nice couple." 

I can't help but notice when a couple looks good together--
as if they could be related-- 
as if maybe there's a common ancestor
passing along their dominant genes,

What if? 
The world of what Ifs. 
I look at these two pictures--
at these two people,
 and I think:
What If?

But I exclaim:
They look good together!
They look alike!
They'd make a nice couple
if only...
only if...

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