THE GLOVED ONE

It was all that reconstructive surgery,
That made me change my mind about you.

People kept chanting, Genius, Genius—
That’s a word I can’t understand anymore.

Everybody must be a genius somehow,
If all men are created as Jefferson claims.

Anyway, when you invited me over
And asked me to give you a hand upstairs,

I grew suspicious when I saw the walls
Were covered with trophies from former affairs.

Well, I took off my gloves and put them on the table,
While you watched me with your new face

(A bit bruised around the eyes
By your latest transfiguration)

And I kept chanting Genius, Genius,
Trying to convince myself it was really Love

And not Wham Bam Thank You Ma’am—
But you never walked toward me,

And you never asked for my hand.
You just stood there staring at my gloves,

So I moon-walked past you down the stairs—
Having already sacrificed too much for your Art.