The Beans and Potatoes Days

During the beans and potato days
when he was still doing school
and the future was like
a fogged windshield
with a broken defroster,

Benny was dating a girl
with family money and
no worries.

Secure in her station
she loved to laugh,
and smoke and screw,

and talk in an exhausting carnival
of ceaseless randomness,
a fascination of which
she never tired.

Her temptations were an
intoxicating distraction
from his murky prospects;
her generosity as boundless
as her monologues.

Benny was seduced by
his newfound fortune - 
being fed and dressed
and fucked and given gifts of
clothes, big books, 
candlelight dinners,
and antique shit 
that accumulated
on his crowded dresser.

Yet, he saw nothing
when he looked
in the mirror,
could not hear
above the noise,
and though he was
comfortable without
a map, he felt himself
stalled and sinking
in discontent.

I can’t do this anymore,
he blurted out one night
during martinis
and foie gras.

But I can give you everything
your heart desires,
she countered,
What do you want?
A Porsche?
A boat?
A romantic trip to Paris?
Anything?

Benny just shook his said,
said I’m sorry,
then left her sitting there,
alone, stunned
and waiting 
for the check.

He couldn’t explain to her
something he didn’t 
really understand -
that he was living where
no one was home,
and that she couldn’t
possibly give him
himself.