Trudging down the stairs,
He barely makes an effort to
Acknowledge my presence
With a frown and grunt.
I feel like something is off,
A palpable aura of menace.
I look at my friend who
Doesn’t seem to notice and
Who bears the scars
To this day.
A pedantic know-it-all,
Droning on about
His one area of expertise,
Laboring to relegate
Anyone and everyone to
Subordinate status,
Unable to make any
Meaningful connection,
A maudlin pretense of power
From a small, sad being
Who has never healed.
So, I finally got
My washboard abs,
My fancy clothes,
My flashy jewelry,
My exotic car,
My huge house,
My trophy wife,
My now what.
Another letter arrives, and
With it a reminder of
The unrelated path I’m on.
No longer an unwitting participant
In a skewed game of
Manipulation and belittlement.
The demands of the past
Attempt to weaken my resolve
But fail to succeed.
I realize that
What I thought was authentic
Turned out to be
Something else
Unsubstantial, inane,
A deliberate fabrication
Demanding my time
Giving nothing in return but
Empty stimulation,
False meaning,
Superficiality.
An affable man was asked whether
He was a writer. He replied emphatically
That he was most definitely not a writer but
More of a reporter. He walked away to
Continue chronicling the vicissitudes of life,
Seen through a lens of superficiality and
Constriction. He made only one exception:
When his words could help damage the
Vulnerable, otherwise, just casual
Accounts about nothing of consequence.
A group of men converge, a raucous
Interplay of competing smiles and
Fables. Towels snapping, quips
Flying, one-upmanship obligatory,
Manic talking, absent listening,
The rustling of business cards being
Exchanged on the fly with
Assurances earnestly attached.
I’ll call you soon, we ought to get
Together for lunch, I like what you’re
Doing, that’s interesting. The phone
Lays silent at his side, unringing,
Unblinking. Useless. A sour
Reminder of broken promises,
Confidences offered in jest. Lack of
Depth, sincerity, meaning.
So brutally hurt inside
That the only way
He feels anything is
When he vanquishes
A foe, real or
Imagined,
Domination trying to
Stand in for love.
He’ll tell you he’s
Just fine,
Strong,
But even those who
Cover for him know
He’s not.
Snatching a seat at the imposing
Exotic wood table,
Bloviating obliviously at the
Assembled underlings
Effusively and expeditiously
Commending every assertion and
Irrational pronouncement
Encased in exclusionary,
Unintelligible claptrap.
A miasma of incontinent adulation,
Widgets and metrics lain upon
The altar of vacuous selfdom.
