THE ORDINARY MAN
The ordinary man sat at a table
in the darkness. Not that he didn’t
like the music, not that he didn’t
like the red dancers in the light.
The truth is he liked them very much;
he sat in his dark shoes and kept
time with his fingers on his glass.
He smiled and nodded approval.
The ordinary man didn’t mind
the green hair of the dancers, the thin
legs and deep skirts, the creased pants
in limbo below the simple bar.
It was a dark table where he sat.
He smiled and drummed his fingers,
nodding approval, as if he
didn’t care what part he was of the show.
—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010