What Makes the Man


It’s not quite right without the tie.
It begs that distinct formality.
Burnside is calling, I’m not sure why.
Talk ends with dismissive finality.

But some days later, within my quick glance,
A tie’s seen worn 'round his neck;
In front of his ear, not merely by chance,
Hirsute patches meet my peck.

Recognition dawns in an adoring smile,
You’re so wonderful!, I cry.
He’s taken aback at my reaction a while,
Thanks, he says thinking, I try.

It’s not the superficial: not manner nor dress,
Certainly not in his trying to please.
It’s his benevolence, his very being, no less:
Rationally selfish – the rest is at ease.

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