Women are not inspired to love me. This
must be an oversight on the creator's part.
Even in my beard I'm built handsomely as other men.
The women vaguely discern a weakness in my character.
About the loins? They scent it out. I dine alone.
As a communal artist this is so, also. The other
musicians choose the saxophone. I am, of course,
unconcerned and in no hurry. In my own time
I will come into my own. In the meantime
I have the canopy of stars it seems to myself.
I take a walk beneath them through the neighborhood.
They are soothing in the way people are not. Both
give joy, of course, but people burn me up while the stars
cool me down. Very cool beneath the canopy of stars.
Copyright 1985 & 2007 by Robert Ronnow.