If I’m going to write about you
then nothing is off the table,
not even your Adam's apple
and the way it swivels
like a hula dancer's belly.
And that grin, of course,
so taut, so changeless,
like it was pasted on.
I'm not you
so I cannot begin
from the core within
and work my way outward.
I must piece you together
from dark and oily strands of hair
to those big fingers
that look like you've always got
a gun in your hand.
So how you feed yourself comes into it.
As do those scuffed-windshield eyes.
And the nervous way you talk
that stops just short of a stutter.
By the time I'm done, who knows,
I might have enough detail and information
to make you whole
which is the first step toward
pulling you apart again
and peeking within.
Just remember,
if I do manage to capture you in print,
it's the fault of your favorite salad dressing
and the way you favor your right leg.
So remember, it is not my intention to embarrass you.
It can only be your intention.