I'm a fifteen-minute kind of man.
I'm a podium,
A stage with lights,
A mike echoing in the sand.
I'm the faint vestige of the dream
That you can't recall.
You rack your brains,
Scratch your mind
For, deep inside, you know -
I was something amazing.
I'm a fifteen-hour kind of man.
I'm a moving-on man,
A rebound of past hurts,
A wall that'll hug you just as tight
As your teddy cushions and cheetos.
You could slap me,
Dig fingernails in me
And I'll keep on smiling,
Keep on holding,
Keep on feeling
Like something special.
I'm a fifteen-year kind of man.
I'm the balding grey of lost memories,
A lottery of sorts
You could play everyday.
You could pull at my strings,
Tune me up
To hear me sing
"I love you" still
In the faint echo of
Is it me you're looking for?'
I'm a fifteen-second kind of man.
I'm the neatly parted hair and briefcase
You watch warily
When you walk platforms and narrow lanes.
You bring your forearms
Across your chest
As you search for the strength of your safety pin
And pepper spray.
Some days, you purse your lips
As you curse yourself
For leaving your hardbound books and ultra-large handbag
For they are much better rampart walls
Against strange decent-looking men.
I'm the man you forget
For I brush past
Without brushing past -
Another bobbing head disappearing
In a crowd of umbrellas.
I'm the man you do not see
For I am the hand
Holding the umbrella beside you
Sneezing in the chill.
I'm the man too much of a man
To be reminded of his place
With safety pins
And pepper sprays.
You've felt too many fifteen-second men
Who've cut and bled you for fifteen years.
You've known too many fifteen-year men
Who've sought in you fifteen-hour distractions.
You've borne the smother of too many fifteen-hour men
Who wanted to bury you in sweat for more than fifteen minutes.
You've heard too many delicious fifteen-minute promises
That haven't lasted all of fifteen seconds.
For this and every other time you've felt and known
You deserved better
From this and other men,
* * *