WHAT’S IMPORTANT?

“Everything is important,” he said.
“Blood research is important. Film is important.
Everything is important.
A job at McDonald’s is important.”

He was big from the waist up, what they call
Barrel-chested. In my arms, he felt fleshy.
We were talking, afterwards.

There was no polite chitchat
When he walked into my living room,
Total stranger from the Internet. There were only postures,
Approximating the fantasy, the intentions.

He wanted to kiss me right away. Normally, this would be fine,
I’m a kisser. My heart sank with a single glance,
Not really my type. Too big, Not handsome.
He looked ridiculous in his soccer kit, white and blue.

I’ve lived my life on first impressions.
His lips were big, I thought, Middle Eastern.
As I tilted his head onto my shoulder,
I noticed a balding area sneaking up on the mass of curly fur.

I didn’t want to kiss him.
Before it was over in the bedroom, I did.
He was French of Greek extraction, he said.

Moved from Nice to L.A. 28 years ago.
A biologist with a taste for spanking.
He told me how it began; only I know it wasn’t
how it really began, Not really.

I’m thinking, French daddy did some spanking.
The cool blue Mediterranean lapped the shore.
More than once, I suppose.

His research was about blood disorders.
When he told me, I said, “That’s important.”