I’m not all that, I’m quite aware.
I like to think there’s something there
But when my head’s diameter
Exceeds a safe parameter
The world queues to buy a ticket
Angling for the chance to prick it.
Case in point: My wife and I
Were in a grocery store to buy
Whatever single people do
(Our one-plus-one was not yet two),
Or did, back in the Reagan years–
Bartles & Jaymes instead of beers,
If I recall the decade rightly.
Look! my love exclaimed, too brightly,
Books of baby names! I’ll bet
They haven’t listed [her name] yet!
And she was right, her name was missed,
As always. Somehow, when the list
Is pared to just ten thousand strong
Norwegian names get cut. That’s wrong
And racist, probably, but true.
The curse of blondes with eyes of blue
And legs that go for days and days…
What’s that? I’m drooling?! Anyways,
The book there at the checkout stand,
To pump its impulse-buy demand,
Included definitions for
Each name, which meant 10,000 more
Short words, at least, were crammed between
The pages of the magazine
(Okay, the booklet). Look up “Mike,”
I said. Let’s find out what I’m like!
(My name, predictably, was there.)
“Michael: godlike.” That sounds fair,
I laughed. Now look up “Kathy,” ’cause
That’s pretty close to yours. (It was,
In fact, a pale and tawdry thing
Beside it, Winter to her Spring,
Or Scrambled to Eggs Benedict,
But that’s the name the writers picked
To represent my love, demure
And devastating.) “Kathy: pure.”
Yeah, you’re pure like I’m godlike!
I quipped. I swear, I heard the strike
Before I felt the sudden slap
Exploding like a thunderclap
Against my cheek. I spun to see
An angry ancient facing me.
Through ringing ears I heard her say,
You do not speak to girls that way!
She scowled darkly, snatched her sack,
And left. I did not answer back,
My vision being somewhat starry…
I heard laughter.
It was Kari.