When I was 16 and an artist
I would dress in black
And take the subway
From the Bronx to Greenwich Village
To hang out.
I carried a sketchbook and
Rapidograph pen and drew
Fellow passengers on the long ride downtown.
One Saturday as I was walking on Bleeker Street
Holding my sketchbook
This man caught up to me.
He told me
In a French accent
That he had been following me for blocks
Because I had such a lovely round behind.
He said he was a diplomat from Haiti working at the United Nations
And took out his wallet to show me a foreign paper
Which he said proved it.
His name was Louis and he was 32.
We went to his apartment arm in arm
And I discarded my black turtleneck sweater
And black corduroy pants
On the floor
And the experience was positively