Boot Blacking

There is a Man

in the corner of the one-room club. His face 

is rugged and beautiful and He’ll call you ‘Boy’.

you’ll like it, for once.

 

His boots are black and slick

and you wish you’d polished them yourself.

His jeans are blue and scuffed

and they hug His thick quads tight.

 

There is a Man

who looks nothing like you;

He’s the stone-cut adonis you should be

and you’re the buttercup under His polished boot.

 

you may find your way to His corner,

and you and Him will share a few words.

you’ll offer Him a light for His cigar,

and He will tell you what to do.

 

He will ask you to scorch tissue paper confetti

and ten dollar bills with your lighter

and you will do as He says

because you would light the world on fire for Him.

 

you would light yourself on fire

to prove to Him, to every Him

that you are like Them;

that you are strong and violent and rough.

 

you would burn away yourself.

and leave You standing in cigar ash

and You will be beautiful

and You will wear shiny black boots too.

 

There is a Man

staring back at You from a blacked-out window

and Your hatred for Him burns Your gut because

He is not You.