Dave Snaker Ray

Watching a gorgeous blonde in profile

Talking to a lover hidden by the jukebox

from my hungry eye.

I see her mouth open, so far away across the room.

Lip-read: “I love you.”

The round, red mouth, the neat teeth

clipping off the words.

When love’s all over you so thick you could

eat it with a spoon,

The flavor’s wrong. More surprising, sometimes:

No hunger.

She is really laying it out for him.

Her blouse slides open a little.

That great, grey knit rides up her knee.

She is really laying it wide open for this guy

I can’t even see.

I had to go and get a drink,

eyeball this juke-box-hidden boy.

Now I sit here, Mr. Coffee,

wired, fired and dripping.

I know that guy. He’s so skinny his shoes don’t fit.

What’s he doing with beautiful girl?

I see her face, and he has had it.

She has got him now–feeling enough freedom,

she sways to the ladies’ room.

She knows he goes

nowhere without her.

I’ve been in that joker’s spot before.

Lovely girl smiling, languid look

she shines on him.

I’ve had it laid out for me before,

But, apparently, not tonite.

How do they ask for it, these good-

looking women?

It’s only hair and skin,

Buttons and strings.

It’s only contorted limbs and a

foreign car that works.

It’s only smack and jack,

stroke and joke,

It’s only a paper moon.

I’ve been in love with the same woman

for as long as I’ve been in love.

I peel the onion, polish the lens,

adjust the light.

She is so good at disguises

Sometimes I don’t see her for weeks.

All of a sudden, she’ll appear right

where I thought she’d be, or may-

be, off center a little.

Like the peripheral flash you could swear you saw

Disappears when you whip your head around,

She winks in the Fovea Centralis of your soul’s eye.