Beware this man. Beware his sincerity And his suitcase, in which he carries the world In miniature. You will recognize him by The rose clenched between his teeth and the tear Tattooed beneath his right eye. He has no Noticeable limp. His eyes are the deepest Green or brown or blue—whatever you desire. He is polite, perversely so, and his shoes Are impeccable. Once he slips a wingtip Between door and jamb, you are lost. Beware His gentle voice. He will speak learnedly On a universe of subjects: on lingerie And the most healthful way to fry an egg, On the mysteries of touch and of breath, On climatology and adoration And pleasure. And remember this: he is Ruthlessly sincere. Therefore, beware The slight dilation of his gaze. He has Already kissed your neighbor, deeply so. The doctors cannot say if she will ever Recover. Beware this man and his tongue: Should you allow it, he will kneel before you And pronounce his shameless love for you, if for no Reason other than your deserving it.
Jeff Mock is the author of Ruthless (Three Candles Press, 2010). His poems appear in American Poetry Review, The Atlantic Monthly, The Georgia Review, New England Review, The North American Review, The Southern Review, and elsewhere. He directs the MFA program at Southern Connecticut State University and lives in New Haven, Connecticut, with his wife, Margot Schilpp, and their daughters, Paula and Leah.
