654. ON DREARY LANE

ON DREARY LANE
I papered up the windows with brownkraft,
just so I couldn't see you. I was, by that time,
already tired of all your languorous half-dreaming,
and my drooling about it too. I could see you every
night, clearly undressing from across the way.
-
You worked slowly, never distracted - every
movement in perfect place. The clothing, piece
by piece, off and on the bed, the wraps, and then
the lace. The bra-clasp, so simply it always went.
I watched, eyes askew, at all the rest...and then YOU!
In perfect aplomb, you never seemed to care. It could
be me, or another hundred there. Your perfect portrayal
was constant. I lived for this effortless moment of time.
-
All this distraction - you have to understand -
finally did get to me, drove me nuts, made me crazy.
I walked across the street one day, just to enter your building
and stare at the elevator where, I figured, you must have
entered and left. Finally, once, there you were! Just as
I'd imagined! Or, in my way, seen; real as all get out,
and just as good. We smiled, you passed. I lingered,
in a shock of recognition - something, I'm sure, like
Darwin or Leakey or someone must have felt,
sometime, at once, after making some
great and binding discovery.