The Male Gaze

June 4 2012

To be of a certain age

we say of women,

amused by the innuendo

imprecision.

Another coming of age

but hardly of her choosing.

And men

of whom it is said

grow old more gracefully,

well-weathered

distinguished in grey.

So exactly when

does the male gaze

become undesirable,

turn from welcome lust

to disgust,

and I

a dirty old man?

And does she realize

in so little time

she will surely become

invisible?

Truth is

we are all objectified,

because no one gets that deep

inside,

not even ourselves

our own inner life.

We are all surface

enigmatic and inscrutable.

Even if

the package begins to droop,

the supple glow

is reduced

to a hard protective shell.

I was a man in control

who exercised power.

But now

defeated, deposed

I keep my looks furtive,

my gaze

to myself.