Thursday, February 23, 2017

A Blue That Looks Like Grey

He lives on the second floor
Of an old two-story building
On the west side

The windows are blacked out
And the apartment is made up
Of only three rooms

Bath, bed, and a living room
--No furniture anywhere

The living room is lit
By the glow
Of three over-sized
Computer monitors

And Christmas lights
Strung up and hung up
From ill-placed nails
In every wall

A mattress sits on a diagonal
On the floor of the bedroom
And despite how dreary
The whole set-up should be
It feels sort of…cool

Like something between
A bunker
And an underground club
So exclusive
Only two people get to see it
At a time

He only half-pays attention to you
As you sit on the floor
Wondering if you would still be here
If he was any other man

His hair falls in his face
And you’ve never seen him wearing
Anything
But sweat pants
And a white tank
That fits him better
Than any article of clothing
Has ever fit anyone

He’s barefoot
And biting his lower lip
As he looks at a design
On one of the giant monitors
That appears to be for…

Some kind of logo?
A project?
An advertising project?

You have no idea
But you don’t ask
You’re nervous
Something about him
Makes you nervous
Even though he’s always been friendly
And even though he’s the one
Who invited you over

Looking at him
You feel as though you’re witnessing
Something special

He doesn’t seem embarrassed
About his state of living

On the contrary
His lack of embarrassment
Makes you feel embarrassed
For wondering
Why he’s not embarrassed

You tuck your legs
Under your chin
Like a girl on a quad
Listening to some handsome senior
Play songs on an acoustic guitar

When really
There’s just silence
And the occasional clatter of keys
And the click of a mouse

He’s changing a section of the design
From grey to a blue that looks like grey
And then back to grey

He can’t decide

When he’s done doing
Whatever it is he’s doing
He’ll take you to the mattress
And you’ll have the best sex of your life
Partly because he’s so attractive
He only has to try half as hard
As a normal person
To get you turned on

And partly because he teaches yoga
Because—of course he does

And the whole time
The only thing
You keep wondering is—

Is this a joke?
Is this some sort of prank?

How is someone this stunning
Interested in me?

And then you realize—

Wait a minute

You’re the one with the good job
And the nice house
On the east side of town
With a new car
And furniture in every room

So why does being with him
Make you feel lucky?

Shouldn’t it be
The other way
Around?

But you don’t allow yourself
To think this
For very long
For fear that he’ll be able
To look into your eyes
And see
What you’re thinking

So instead, you bury your face
Into what you imagine is an unwashed pillow
On the mattress
And pretend to fall asleep
While he creeps back to the monitors
So he can continue choosing
Between grey
And a blue
That looks

Like grey

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