Sweet and Sour Man
He makes a cradle with his arms
for the pup to sprawl in
and languidly lets his swarthy body
sag in the rocking chair.
Something about him smacks
of black magic; maybe his eyes.
Sometimes, like an impenetrable
wall of darkness, they could almost
physically force you to step back
in retreat, or else, they may be smoldering
under the heavy lids and you find
yourself orbiting in their magnetic field.
There’s also a look about him
of a mountain brigand
maybe in the small suggestion of a welt
on his cheek, or is it his mahogany toes
that are protruding shamelessly
from his torn disreputable sandals?
A sharp bite from Sidney on the chin
jerks him back to full consciousness
and a tender, unnamable rush
of understanding fills his face
as his fingers gracefully
move over the hungry pup.
He smiles, and the smile spreads
through him like warm wine.
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