Avery        sat  across   the room in two classes
Of mine-starky, lean, and well       philosophical.
His brown eyes only scanned me         I was
Nothing     to him.
He always stormed in      just in time  
I’d think     he must be absent    today
But no       there he’d come,  tall    white    and well,
Alluring.
His bags all over the floor     how could he make
Mess look so       classy        so           elegant
****. He
Spoke with such   top-notch   diction   and
His voice-straight, methodical, structured
But perhaps the enchantment came from
His cedar-like after-smell    like Jewish markets
In the City. That rich, well-educated, cocky      smell.
Avery sat across the room, and read his writing

I read mine to him,    but
I was nothing
To him.