Reflections: Thigh high boots and black roots

So far this has been a cheap knock-off
of the great day promised through my window
by the smooth talking rays of sunshine.
A deep inner suspicion of possible grandeur
seems to be clashing with the decor of this place
like a brown couch placed somewhere loud and gaudy.
Every corner promises an extraordinary event,
but upon turning it there is revealed only another hallway
lined with unassuming grey corporate carpeting.

Idle memories of a blind date years ago appear
without warning, for which the bait was thrown
"She is blonde, really classy looking and quite intelligent".
As an innocent bass that snaps at something shiny,
I arrived to find thigh high boots and black roots
accompanied by excessive references to binge drinking.
The diversion had not been entirely unpleasant
as there was quite frankly nothing to compete anyway,
but I was mystified someone would find her "perfect for me".

For a few days thereafter the possibility that I
presented myself as the male version of her troubled me
just as I now dread this has become my "extraordinary".
When no definitive preference for an outcome exists
it is difficult to dive in with both barrels blazing
in lieu of wait like a scavenger for fortune to smile.
Still, there remains a pleasant sensation of deja vu
something priceless is minutes away, but the countdown
is on a Rolex with hands that tick forward endlessly.


-- Steve McKennon - 1/15/2002