So I sit
in one of
the many
long chairs
of a San Clarita
luxury resort,
red, oiled,
like a newly born
seal, sipping
from a tall glass
of pale spirits,
divining, redoing, and
unsettling the long rows
of people filing in and
out of the pool- which sits
like a fat dog on its
belly-
by squinting my
eyes and tilting my head to and
fro,
and I am noticed by
everyone, and
I come to bask in
their attentions,
noticed, spotlighted
by a grand and medieval
sun.
I am comfortable,
single, successful
in an artful and
humble way,
and everybody,
everybody finally
wants me.
I tilt my head
to the left and right
to view the spaces
of my dominion.
All at once
the angle becomes
wrong, and
I am feared,
despised, a witless
despot parading
around in false
clothes; my
mastery has fled;
all is revolting;
I am once again
myself