when the beautiful are alone

she stands at the corner
waiting for the light to change so that she can cross
with no reason to cross
but to move from where she is
in some direction---
people watch her as she moves &
even if she was blindfolded
she knows that she could feel the eyes
trace over her figure
like a butter knife smoothing preserves over a piece of toast
making sure to labor on every single bit of her &
it’s hard for her to remember a time that this wasn’t the case,
having had to make very little of an effort through life
her biggest problem has been trying to attain
privacy
because of the shock that she promotes
in just leaving her abode
she constantly hides from a barrage of photos, sad attempts at striking up
conversation with her, uncomfortable brushes, possible gropings & even stalkers---
having gone the easy route &
relied on her looks to pay her bills,
she is always conscious of the slightest flaw in her appearance &
to say that deliberating ways of erasing such flaws is
always churning within her mind
would be a vast understatement.

but tonight, as the march wind blows through her hair
and already she has caught the eyes of people sitting in the café on the other side of the street she is crossing,
she is alone---
this general “oddity” lies just beneath the surface of conversations
initially started with ”WOW’s” &
comments about where such people have seen her picture, if she has been in any films,
etcetera---
for when the beautiful people are alone,
the lonely (or for that matter, those with others who feel lonely inside)
wonder just what is wrong with the universe---
to go further, there is an aspect of terror in the air,
because if such a person that attracts such attention,
which has the ability to make car accidents occur---is alone,
then what is possible for the rest of the world?

whatever will we do?
whatever will we do?