I met a modern man
I met a modern man one day
Who looked but could not see
The me in front of him for all
The tags attached to me.
He noted I was someone of
My height, weight, age and race.
And from my accent, he could tell
That I’d come from some place.
Wanting to know how much I made
He asked me what I do
And how much that profession paid:
I told him and he knew.
He took note of the model and
The year of what I drive
And nodded at my home address
When he asked me where I live.
I’ve met this man so often, friends
Have seen a change in me,
The onset of a rather quirksome
Personality.
Now, when I meet a modern man
And he asks such-and-such,
I make up facts, then ask him, Does
It matter all that much?
Whatever salary I make
You are welcome to half;
And if you’re homeless, my home’s yours.
When homeless gets a laugh—
He’s never homeless—there is hope.
Then I ask him a thing or two,
Like favorite parks, and types of days.
I like snow—what about you?
If by then he has not beaten
The hastiest retreat
I might inquire, Say have you eaten?
Let’s go somewhere and eat!
And then I get that modern man
To talk of other things
Than things, like parks and snow and men
Who don’t enjoy such things.
Then I pick up the check and treat
So that he owes me one
And it’s up to him whether or not
A friendship has begun.
My friends point out I can’t afford
To treat like this, but I’m
Determined to give modern man
A chance. And it saves time.