Still Doing This

 

Do I have to do this,

do I have to keep smushing

my face against the glass in

the hopes of getting a peek.

Do I have to do this, over and

over again.

 

I can never really see anything,

it’s always a little blocked or

blurry, or somehow obscured

by some shadow of doom or

briny waters of doubt, but I keep

telling myself I have to do it.

 

I have to keep pushing,

harder against the glass,

praying for that fruitive glimpse

of some magical thing, something

I’ve been waiting all my life for,

that one hint of skin to make it right.

 

Do have to stay on my tippy-toes,

on the very edge of the ledge so I

can see the thing on the other side,

that thing I’m not even sure is there,

that something that’s supposed to

be worth all my faith.

 

I’m too afraid to stop looking but more

afraid of actually seeing.

Will I know it when I see it?

Will it have been as desperately longing

to see me as much as I have for it?

Is it even worth all the aggravation?

 

The glass is smeared with the grease

from my cheek. The outline of my

furrowed brow is visible in the glass,

the reflection of my squinting eyes,

still unable to just get a look at the

other side.

 

Do I have to keep doing this?

Is there any alternative to pressing

so hard against this dingy glass.

Do I have to keep at it until my

perseverance is finally rewarded

with a look at the sideshow gallery of lust.