in response to Mary's Question and another poem

mary asked an interesting question that piqued my interest. its in the comments section of the last post. she asked if i reminded her at all of Sean J. from our 518 class. The answer is yes and no. yes, i was very set and sure of myself when i was a bit younger. i see that in sean. yes i thought i could find poetic absolutes also. But part of me (the prideful part) reacts very strongly against any mention that i am like sean. I believe sean currently lacks the core humility to want to mold himself into a serious poet. he still holds on to work, and shares more opinions than poems. which i dont like. i sincerely hope he works long enough to let his talent come through his gimmicks. I havent seen enough of his poetry to compare our styles. sorry if that is a bit harsh, i know i should be nicer, but there were some comments from Sean in my last reviewed poems that i thought were rather stupid, to be blunt. wow, i feel like a bad guy now, so ill post a love poem (one of my first) and leave you for the weekend.

“A. Allen tells a woman about the first time he realized he was in love with her but does so unsolicited and overly excited because he figures that such a realization is something to be excited about” or, “I just thought you should know”.

It was on the plane
And I wanted to sit next to you so badly
And I was so worried
About us sitting together,
so worried,
and I imagined through every stereotype
every character,
that could come and take the vacant seat
between our assigned ones.
First there was a lady so small and alone
she wanted to feel the contact of shoulders
on each side of her.
Then the grizzled New Yorker
with a brutal passion for the middle seat.
Then even a socialite whose time was past
And whose children were all gone
(she needed conversation on both sides
To fill her void).

And then I hoped.
I hoped for someone hunched and of necessity always leaning forward
(where we could still be close leaning back),
I hoped for an invisible man, so I could see you through him,
Or some California blonde
So at least I could peak at you through the ears.
I finally settled hope on someone so fair
As to be opaque
At least then I could see your hazy light

Later,
I was too busy praying for the invisible man to touch my knee
And invite himself past me in a shy voice
That promised silence
To hear the close of the boarding door.
And I was too busy offering the stereotypes meager bribes
Of Spanish lessons
To notice the moment the seat stayed empty,
Or the moment you laid your head across
The upholstered emptiness
It rested on my left leg, and your black hair
fell down upon my lap, and away.
(Just so you know, it was then, just then.)