Mr. Manhattan

He was waiting

for me as I got off the plane.

In earthy day-wear he looked

rugged, relaxed;

sure of himself, you know?

Like he'd never had to work for it.

Stick with me, baby, I'll make you, baby;

And God, he smelled good!

Sea minerals and smoke

and just a little bit of perspiration.

(Desperation?)

He filled me

every day with culture.

I saw his parks, his museums;

He fed me

things I'd only read about

in Lonely Planet;

frilled pastrami the colour of

charred liver, Cel-Ray, lox;

and then there was

that secret afternoon

when I'd hungrily sucked

cereal-milk flavoured ice cream

from his dripping fingers.

At night he donned midnight linen

and brought me

Deco diamonds.

I left him

at the airport.

He was meeting another girl.