The World's Greatest Lover was holding forth at the bar,
with a woman poured over his arm on each side
like swooning raincoats.
He had pretty boys pouting near the potted palms,
and they rolled dice to see who would get
his cuff links and his legendary cock.
So softly that he had to ask me to repeat myself,
I said that he was nothing but a mouthy, well-dressed fraud
and that he knew nothing at all about love.
"Little seal with the red ball on your nose," he said, smiling benignly,
"keep clapping. I like it."
I introduced him to my acquaintance--
a not particularly pretty girl wearing carnival vendor jewelry.
In her bag she carried nothing but a paperback,
and her phone, which played "Beat It" when it rang.
A year later, I saw him again,
and he looked like hammered shit.
He stared right through things with a slightly stunned expression,
and did this nervous thing with his jaw,
but blessedly, he had stopped talking altogether.
I walked up to him.
It was easy; he was alone.
I said, poor sad little seal,
I see she taught you well.
for Susan's challenge at Real Toads, which asked for a poem about love. I used one of the illustrations provided.