I try to avoid looking,

I try to avoid looking,

Especially at younger women.

There is always the chance they will

Punch me out

There was a time

When they would follow me home.

Seriously.

I’m not sure I want that again

It was scary

Opening my front door

To see a woman I barely knew

Standing there

With a half smile

A waifish ingenue,

Which is not the same

As a Jehovah’s Witness,

Coy is the word that comes to mind,

Nursing a bicycle helmet

Like it was a peace offering

And saying she thought this was where I lived

Could she come in

To use the facilities.

She was naked before I could turn her down

She wasn’t French

But asked if I was a fan of

Women with hairy armpits

I wasn’t

But what was I supposed to say?

It took me two days

To fend her off

I guess that wouldn’t happen now.

I fear people turning up

Out of the blue,

Not that it is ever blue

More a murky shade of grey,

Why do they paint hallways that colour?

Expecting me to welcome the

Weight of their intrusion

When the baggage I carry

Is already heavy enough

To sink a lifeboat,

Who needs more

Than they are fit enough to lift.

Perhaps I had wandering eyes

When I was a boy

Now they are kept in check

Hidden out of other people’s sight

Behind transitional lenses

The impact should be to make me bolder

But as I get older

I can’t be bothered by any attention

I might get

If I am caught taking an interest

In finer details.

When all is said

Perhaps it is better to remain detached

Than to be caught up

In a strangers backstory

When the truth of it is

I am still trying

To make sense of my own.