The Way Her Eyes Dart Away- Poem

"Here I am, an old man in a dry month......"
T.S. Eliot; first line from, Gerontion.

I can tell, by the way her eyes dart away,
That this, our first date, will be
The last.

Sometimes, with certain women, I have incredibly
Good timing and luck.

Other times, very recently,
The luck is on but the timing
Couldn't be worse.

I first met her almost a decade ago,
I was attracted to her, of course,
As everyone was, who met her.

That first time I saw her, I thought,
Hoped to believe,
That the look she gave me meant,
She was also attracted to me.

Less than a year ago, she finally agreed,
To have a drink with me.

She sat across from me, at the table we chose,
Looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her.

The timing was off, though.

I was out of work, without a stable
Place to live, and was paying for our date
Out of the meager unemployment check
The state of California had blessed me with.

And, I could tell,
By the way her eyes darted away,
That the timing was incredibly bad,
For her to ever date me again,
In regards to her situation.

This version of me, that women see
Through their realistic scope
Of vision, has only existed
Recently.

I am the same model of person
That was passed a note in third grade
On a scrap of torn off crayon
Wrapper.

I am the same model of person
That is not afraid to meet parents
On a holiday, birthday, or just
Because.

I am the same model of person
That despised the one-night stand,
And would prefer with women
A kinship over an absolution.

I was the one women spoke to
About past abuse.

I was the one who showed up
After he and she had faltered.

Their eyes dart away, though,
When they learn I am so poor
I cannot even afford an apartment.

And, am I any different?

I can't afford a cat or dog
To live with me in my car.

So, that is why, my eyes dart away
When I am paying for a woman's eat
And drink, while she has a job, and
A home, and I do not.

I was the one, once, a long time ago,
That pretty women paid for
Because the bartender was busy,
And faithful, planning his wedding
With his future fiancé.

I am not disfigured, or diseased,
But that is the look I get-
A subtle, downturned glance
Of sympathy and disgust
When I dare to tread within
Any establishment, or I am present
With any person
That has not considered,
Or been aware of
The tentative nature of life
That leaves us exposed
To judgment, harassment, and sometimes
Sympathy from our peers.

It is the sympathy, though,
That is most dangerous.

We cannot tell if those that sympathize
Truly want to help, or if they are
Easing their own conscience, while
Looking for away to escape from us.