A BAR SCENE

So, what is wrong with my life
And why can't I fully explain
A conception that it is banal?

I watched her mouth and my Cabernet
As she pronounced the word
I thought, here is an intriguing woman

There was no intent of allure, oddly
As that was the pretext of the situation
The charge just wobbled amidst perfume

I needed to get past it, I thought
Having described my life in such a way
That permitted, I suppose, an assessment

Had I merely been rejected, brushed off
Not given the time to study that mouth
I could have easily turned to my right

I was transfixed. Hopelessly off my game
As I knew at once, was panicked to realize
I was feeling something inside, something familiar

And the way she looked at me as she said it
Like the silhouette of my perfect fantasy
Suddenly talking back, disagreeing, accusingly

I don't know how I got out of there, or why
Lying quietly alone, now, trying to sleep
I despise her for daring to look right in

As I trace the lines of her mouth.

"As that was the pretext of the situation"

There is always that: pretext, text, and subtext.

"I despise her for daring to look right in"

Yup, those are exactly the ones we are looking for... (and they as well, I suspect).

Nice job.

NuPl-

I hope you posted your work with the idea that dolts like me would think - and post - about it. Having already been addressed by Mr. Breslin this week, I will certainly feel more like a prick if that's not the case.

I found an awful lot to like about your poem, and I find myself compelled to keep reading it. (I believe that's a very good sign.) I find myself drawn particularly to the following lines, which come together over two stanzas:

" Had I merely been rejected, brushed off
Not given the time to study that mouth
I could have easily turned to my right

I was transfixed. Hopelessly off my game"

Our poet finds himself a "playuh" in a pick-up situation, only to get befuddled to the degree that his game, and his evening, fall apart. Great image, and very original concept.

I take from your opening that she utters the first stanza, and says banal through a damn fine looking pair of lips. Our playuh then admits to having opened himself up for her challenge by "having described my life in such a way That permitted, I suppose, an assessment." If I am misreading this interplay, please let me know. If not, could it be that our poet has a little wedding-ring issue that he doesn't want to bring up to the young lady right now? I know he is alone once he gets to bed, but so are a lot of business travelers who find themselves in pick-up bars.

Another thought is that bar-rooms are rife with sensory stimuli, but I find only perfume in your work. I wouldn't mind smelling smoke, peanut shells or buffalo wings, or hearing giggling drunks or blues while I read this one. On the other hand, maybe those who drink Cabernet in bars go to different bars than I do.

Enjoyed your poem a lot. Thank you.