Late Evening Talkers

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A marketing guy for a manufacturer
In underwear, he tells me how,
Whenever he tells someone what he does,
They take him for a dealer in brass.
And this is his personal joke — over and over we laugh.

He wants to shift over to the marketing of
More substantial stuff. Lists out
Closely meditated-upon options
One by one, pros and cons included,
Pelting across the evening light, a faraway horizon.

“But”, he concludes, “lingerie it is for me!”:
A man with a good half a measure of himself,
A clear idea of the untrodden, desired path,
A surveyor who has half done his map
With an idea of the meat that should turn on his heart(h).

Silence ensues. Tapping his left knee with a
Little can he is holding, he shakes his heel
To the rhythm of the music playing. I’m like ‘damn’,
To myself, I’m like ‘damn’ and comparing
The comparable note between bra salesman and me.

I’ve known where I should go, but, where stagnant
Like a pinned insect I pause, giving pleasure to
The amused onlooker who, without a clause, takes for granted
My discomfort, retardation and pain. Wanting to make a break
And to restore the scent of life again.

“Well?” he asks, suddenly, out of the half dark.
“What you thinking? Am I kinda making you bored?”
An intervention — though not any closer to divine —
As a kid bearing a tray walks up by my side
And extends in rigid arm move the contents, mummified.



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