when the beautiful are alone

she stands at the corner

waiting for the light to change so that she can cross

with no reason to cross

but to move from where she is

in some direction---

people watch her as she moves &

even if she was blindfolded

she knows that she could feel the eyes

trace over her figure

like a butter knife smoothing preserves over a piece of toast

making sure to labor on every single bit of her &

it’s hard for her to remember a time that this wasn’t the case,

having had to make very little of an effort through life

her biggest problem has been trying to attain

privacy

because of the shock that she promotes

in just leaving her abode

she constantly hides from a barrage of photos, sad attempts at striking up

conversation with her, uncomfortable brushes, possible gropings & even stalkers---

having gone the easy route &

relied on her looks to pay her bills,

she is always conscious of the slightest flaw in her appearance &

to say that deliberating ways of erasing such flaws is

always churning within her mind

would be a vast understatement.

 

but tonight, as the march wind blows through her hair

and already she has caught the eyes of people sitting in the café on the other side of the street she is crossing,

she is alone---

this general “oddity” lies just beneath the surface of conversations

initially started with ”WOW’s” &

comments about where such people have seen her picture, if she has been in any films,

etcetera---

for when the beautiful people are alone,

the lonely (or for that matter, those with others who feel lonely inside)

wonder just what is wrong with the universe---

to go further, there is an aspect of terror in the air,

because if such a person that attracts such attention,

which has the ability to make car accidents occur---is alone,

then what is possible for the rest of the world?

 

whatever will we do?

whatever will we do?