The man who
can barbecue some
poor dumb animal

Fix your car
put up a shelf
for the romantic books
piled on your floor.

I am not that man.

I am not that man
to carry you over
thresholds garnered
in new gold and tiled
from byzantine shores.

I am not that man
you dream of
dripping money and
diamonds
flashbulbs popping
your every red woven
glide coiffed and coutoured

I am not that man

I am real