Gentleman or None

There are times when,

if she is going to do certain things,

a woman requires a Gentleman by her

side or else none would be preferred.

A Gentleman is simply

a man who effortlessly assists

her without making her

feel less than.

Most men find this implausible.

Most men cannot accept her,

accommodate her with aplomb,

graciously

– without mocking or teasing her,

without disrespect within even

the slight corner of his eye –

without mistaking her

choices for her

weaknesses.

A Gentleman knows better.

Pinched shoes and a shackling pencil skirt,

binding squeezing bra under a chilly

flimsy camisole:

it’s all coordinated,

artificially disabling, open-

faced vulnerability.

And rare would be the man who could

carry with grace

such manifested

concoctions of others’ (un)conscious desires

as women do bear…

let alone preserve his self-esteem un-

broken.

Yet, such exposure, when born

by a Lady complete and centered,

comes out a graceful vision, a

gift she’s crafted from

lurid desires,

if she chooses…

the Gentleman,

whose every supporting act

to her offers his grateful regard –

his tacit recognition of her unspoken efforts –

is simply a man who effortlessly assists

her without making her

feel less than.

And the Lady

is simply revealed when she generously accepts

Gentlemen without seeing herself

as less than.

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

OJ Simpson

Saw this black man putting away cheese

on a shelf at the grocery store,

and he had a white pair of gloves on,

and he was trying to put a black pair of gloves on top,

and he was struggling.

And I said to him,

"You look like OJ Simpson trying to get those gloves on."

He laughed pretty hard.

My friends said I was brave,

but "I know Chicagoans.“

Really, I just know people.

~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

Lightning Bugs

Surely lightning bugs are evidence of some fairy dust magic.

Ever an atheist, I rank them amongst the holiest syncopated miracles:

Haley’s Comet, Old Faithful, Great Migrations, the Aurora Borealis…

Fragile pupil-sized creatures orchestrate twinkling candles, multiplying

layering flickers, crescendos illuminating night’s respiration.

I’ll know yet my privilege is lost if when amid shadowy meadows

no swell in me is risen upon first sight of their brief iridescence.

Further, he who pauselessly dismisses a firefly without a trace of wonder

is touchless to me and nary worth more than my detached compassion.

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

Solesistic

“Buzzz! Buuuuuuzzzzzz!”

Announcing, the intercom.

His delivery: balanced skillfully,

sliced pizzas and cheesy breadsticks.

Trots away, tallying the cash.

Papa John’s Pizza baseball cap.

Except for that, he’s all pressed

slacks, belt, oxford, business casual.

“Doo---owoup!”

Unlocking, heavy doors.

Gingerly sits down: well maintained

silver 2008 sleek Lexus Sedan.

Drives away, dropping the windows.

“We'll steal away to the dark end of the street…”

Crooning, James Carr.

Cap comes off: salt-n-pepper cropped

slim, sixtyish, six-foot, black man.

*Solecism

1.  an ungrammatical combination of words in a sentence; also:  a minor blunder in speech.

2. something deviating from the proper, normal, or accepted order.

3. a breach of etiquette or decorum.

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

By Comparison

We first met just a few hours ago.

Pointing to a faded scar on a thumb, telling of

teenage bravado totaling your dad’s truck;

and I gather it’s your big near death tale.

I meet your expectant too-casual glance

acting the appropriate level of awestruck.

Nowadays you work weekdays for your friend

while he takes vacations with the wife and the kid.

Your solitary weekends spent on home improvement projects,

“I’d get a dog,” you say, “if it weren’t for the gym after work,”

cause of course you’re gonna lose that “recently” gained weight.

Finally, you ask me a few automatic questions,

and without decoration I answer matter-of-factly.

A long margarita-sipping pause, you lean back and remark,

“Boy, your life’s pretty exciting!  Mine’s boring by comparison.”

Something about the way you say it…

My first thought was, “I haven't even told you the best parts!”

My second thought, “You’re quintessential middleamerica, I bet.”

But I stop at my third, growing uneasy and suspicious,

“Yeah, I know what you are, now.”

“Have you ever watched crabs in a bucket or barrel?”

I silently ask while stuffing down an enchilada.

Unspeakingly I persist through a dulce de leche dessert,

“Your proximate existence claws at my upward momentum,

drags me down to your complacent crawling towards

what-the-fuck-did-I-do-with-my-life deathbed regrets.”

We finish our coffees and give good-bye back pats,

each knowing the other would soon willingly forget

as we drive opposite directions out of the parking lot.

After all, you felt sucked down to the barrel’s bottom.

And I felt like an escapee scuttling back to the ocean. 

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

Lovely

You look lovely with your

cocoa powder skin and

soft-sheen nape-length hair

black and effortlessly sweeping

your forehead reminiscent

of a 1950s-era soda-pop shop

background character.

Your pure white dress

cotton embroidered eyelet

fitted to the torso sweetening

at the hips into creaseless waves

for your knees’ peekaboo game.

Your mustard demi-sweater

sheltering shy shoulders

at modesty’s request 

(modesty cannot demand).

Lovely, I hope you are happy.

Ahead of me in line

you mutely purchase

your red leaf lettuce

and green leaf lettuce

and single cucumber.

Your beige hosiery

wrapping up cocoa calves

into humble suede pale

brown flats - your go-to

shoes for every occasion.

Your makeup-free fresh

face modestly adorned by

pearl post earrings and

clean-lined brows framing

unassuming dark eyes

meeting no one’s beckon.

Lovely, I hope you are happy.

Too often someone visioning

as lovely as you is just

pleasant-faced-masking

over a pain-filled life endured

nobly with passive grace.

Lovely, I hope you are happy

for my sake as much as yours.

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

Poets Poetry Poems Relationships Sex Express Expression

Soto

Imagine a Samoan, like an NFL linebacker.

Not quite that tall, but like,

three-hundred-plus-pound-round-balloon big.

Imagine four thick rich basted brown turkey legs

for arms and thighs stuck out of his t-shirt and shorts.

His bouncing belly flap drags below the hem,

but he never self-consciously tugs the tee down.

Then you notice his insouciant smile and bright eyes,

proportioned like three holes in a bowling ball.

Technically he’s young, but you don’t consider his age –

a trait dwarfed by the master status of his

size, dark skin, and good nature – in that order.

He's not a Samoan, though.

He’s a Puerto Rican.

And he likes to cook.

And he loves his wife.

And his name is Soto.

Soto lumbers up to home plate lazily swinging

the bat like Fred Astaire with his cane.

He rocks the slugger up to sit on his shoulder,

the grip and the knob lost in his hands.

Soto shows he’s ready by just nodding twice,

but nothing else moves towards the pitcher.

Except his slow-motion head and dark eyes,

still not a twitch as the first ball flies by.

The second is the same

and the pitcher looks smug.

The third was the same

if you didn't look close.

But the bat’s on the ground?

And the ball’s in the air?

Landing far onto another field’s diamond,

it empties loaded bases and puts Soto on third.

The same Soto did all three times at bat,

over and again before the end of the game.

And afterwards Soto spoke of cooking Chicken Alfredo

as he gathered his wife and mopped off his brow.

Smiling and placidly saying, “Goodbye,”

Soto and his wife lumbered away.

And we thankfully smiled back at Soto –

our lip-smacking ball-cracking triple-sized guy.

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone

Big Plans for the Weekend?

Any big plans for the weekend?

“Oh nothing much,” I sigh.

“I’ll muddle through somehow.

  Just a few obligations."

I’m sure. I’m sure. What are they, pray tell?

“A little banquet on Friday…

  I must give a talk

  About how I saved those rare little animals

  from a flood, a mudslide and a big rock.”

That’s great! Good for you!

“No no. Really it’s nothing. No big to-do.

  Now Saturday! I play Polo in the championships.

  But I’ll have to leave early out of Palm Springs.

  Maybe I’ll fly or perhaps take a train?”

Oh my. Why is that?

“Well, I don’t know if I can make it -

  A soiree in the Hamptons.

  It’s my best friend’s birthday party.

  Really, I shouldn't miss it.”

Then I do hope you make it. My weekend-

“I’ll probably stay overnight?  

  Then I can catch that luncheon in NYC.

  I really don’t know, we’ll just have to see.”

The luncheon? I’ll bite. What-

“Yes. For the Top Twenty Poets of 2016.”

But it’s only-

“Then Paris that night, I’m off to my show.

  It’s my newest collection: Springtime Essence.

  Now of that I am proud, so I simply must go.”

Jeez, I was just asking a simple quest-

“Then early on Sunday I’m up and on the run.

  Take the Chunnel from France to a Christening in London.

  Just a small family affair, nothing too fancy pants!

  I’ll be a godparent to my first cousin’s eldest son.

  (He’s only fifteenth in line for prince of Great Britain.)”

Well, congrats to you? Oh look at the time!

“But thankfully I’m back in my Midwest flat

  To start back at work on Monday at noon.

  So yeah, nothing too big. Why? What will you do?

  Any big plans this weekend for you?”

No. I have not. Nothing worth saying after all of that!

“Well honest to gosh, neither do I.

  But now you know how I feel

  Every time that question is asked,

  When all I have planned

  Is reading and a few household tasks.”

        ~Volpini Amentum Arete Anemone