LECHER
 
Genose
Had a goatee,
A large stomach.
A bible-thumping
Christian,
He’d sprinkle
Conversation
With:
“God sees all,”
Or,
“The lord giveth as taketh away.”
If someone said,
“Jesus Christ,”
Genose would say,
“It’s not his fault.”
 
Despite his Christianity,
Genose, 55, hit on
18-year-olds
Who worked at
The bookstore’s café.
 
I’m sure the girls
Thought him creepy,
But felt bad;
Hence,
No one reported him.
 
Once,
Genose got hung up
On an 18-yr-old
Blonde-haired girl;
Despite there being
No evidence that
The girl was interested,
He was heartbroken
When she told him that
She’d prefer if Genose
Never speak to her again.
 
In the breakroom afterwards,
Genose
Took large bites
Of a reheated
Philly cheesesteak sandwich.
Grease trickled down his chin,
His eyes wet.
 
“She was the one,” he said.
I punched out at the timeclock.
“She would’ve been perfect.”
 
I didn’t know what to say;
I mumbled something
About things like this happening;
Then walked out to my car.
 
On the way to
The hamburger place
Across the street,
I thought of Genose—
And felt
Distant disgust
Yet relief;
And wondered
Which was worse:
To end up like Genose
And be aware of it;
Or to become someone
Like Genose
And be so delusional
That you’d think that
A pretty 18-yr-old
Would be receptive
To your advances;
That you were as normal
As everyone else.