There was no one else
sleeping it off in the gutter,
face bathed in perspiration
vomit and a bluish tinge,
and YOU, up-yourself-
stiletto-heels platinum blonde,
what the hell gives you the right
to avert your mascara eyes
looking instead, at the Mercedes,
parked down Robson Street,
at the European News Kiosk,
hoping, expecting the best
of Vancouver, to pick you.
What about ME, purple face,
liver failure, dandruffitis,
athlete's foot and scabies,
why not, I ask you, Sir,
why can't you save me
from what all these frigging
Salvos said was certain death?
I've hurt no human beings, ever
and I would never hurt the likes
of you, with your shaved legs
and hairless pussy, and the lot
of modern day shenanigans.
I do not mean to be without respect,
and only want to have the glory of
a fleeting second of your life
to share, without your knowledge.
No one will ever know, or guess
but when I go, clutching my pink Madeira
I would have had just one more moment of
what you will treasure in your days
and all your nights, your knowing eyes.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/knowing-eyes/
