man Spreading.
As if we are not deserving of this view.
Have you ever noticed the way
men take up space?
I jokingly call it spreading.
Maximum occupancy possible.
.
.
The irony is that there is no joke at all.
.
.
The crowd is ready.
I am seated on the curb- front row.
Big smile, wide eyes–it is my first time here.
his shoulders emerge first. he bumps a woman.
he does not notice. If he does, he does not speak.
Five to the right, three to the left, there is space for his body off to the side.
he spreads his legs, pausing a mere arms length in front of me.
Darting eyes, he finally makes contact with mine.
With acute awareness that he has blocked my frame with his,
he turns back around, standing still.
As if I am not deserving of this view.
.
.
The paint is ready but he is not, artist number 6.
Grandmother sits in a folding chair- front row.
Big smile, wide eyes–granddaughter will be painting here.
his backpack draped hand emerges first. It bumps grandma.
he does not notice. If he does, he does not speak.
Three to the right, two to the left, there is space for his station off to the side.
he spreads his easel, standing a mere arms length in front of grandma.
Scanning eyes, he finally makes contact with hers.
With acute awareness that he has blocked her frame with his,
he turns back around, standing still.
As if she is not deserving of this view.
.
.
The sunset is ready, as are we.
We are seated at a window table- front row.
Big smile, wide eyes - I am intoxicated by the view here.
his shoulders emerge first. They bump the window.
he does not notice. If he does, he does not speak.
One to the right and four to the left, there is space for his viewing off to the side.
he spreads his grip, stopping a mere arms length in front of us.
We have come to this window for this sunset.
I have grown tired of the spreading.
I tap on the glass.
Certainly he does not realized he has become our sunset view.
his brother waves an apology, moves two steps to the side.
Angry eyes, he finally makes contact with ours.
With acute awareness that he has blocked our frame with his,
he turns back around, standing still
As if we are not deserving of this view.