I'm Looking at the MF in the Mirror

hey motherfucker in the tie
did you see me when you looked
in the window at your reflection
at the Rich Slob Bank on Rittenhouse Square?
ties werre invented to accentuate
dicks

did you perceive the buckle
that swashed as you swished
through crowds never cresting
always cracking where you create
turbulence and trauma in the
crevasses

did you see my life in that Big Bank
Window did you see my love my
longing my lot as liminal to my fellows
did you cognosce my cavil
as a cover for the caravan of broken
promises

were you too obsessed with the fall
of your tie the crease of your trousers the
pop of your shoulder pads the sheen
of the sun on your slammed-shut
briefcase, carry lives embossed in every
brief

rich fuck did you even
feel my breath heavy on your silk lapel
vibrate to the rhythm of my too great
flesh bearing the scars of surgery and
sickness in stuff and spirit pirouetting its
escape

did you even notice that you'd overrun another
man with a vision that you occluded
with your stumble to prominence, blind
to any obstacle, least a middle aged teacher composer
poet in jeans on a workday, fighting for equitable
distribution

one day you too will be a castoff
the next young lion will rip off your mane
and hand it to you "as a hood ornament"
the next Amazon will rip from you client after
client until your partners lose their sense of
history

one day those steely blues will turn ice
cold as crows feet gather beaks will peck
until your cold gaze chills hearts no more
your buckle will have far too much to do to swash
that cloth penis will fray and point outward
and you will know the man before you dodging, imploring
pardon