Every Day Ordinary

I wrote this poem nine years ago after I had the "epiphany" I spoke about in my last post. It's about that ordinary guy that gave me an extraordinary revelation. This is dedicated to him and all the regular guys like him.

kw

Every Day Ordinary

Soft like cotton or maybe silk.
It’s comparable to fluffy white clouds.
It’s that kind of soft.
You know the kind you want to bathe yourself in
Or maybe wrap yourself in.
The kind of soft you wanna use sparsely.
You wanna luxuriate in when you want to feel needed, wanted
That softness can do that for you.
It’s a priceless commodity.
I’m talking about his voice.

Mellow like some Coltrane during the rain,
Chasing away fears and apprehension, regrets and tears.
It washes over you like a cool shower on a hot summer’s day.
Refreshing.
A change from the basing baritones and booming tenors.
No, this is absent of the hardness, the roughness.
This is soft like a feather grazing your skin.

So the voice forces you to watch the lips, wondering about its origin.
Wondering about how it would sound in a different place, uttering different words.
Words that illicit reaction.
That voice that caresses and demands.
Disobeying, not yielding is not an option.
Why would I want to anyway?
I want to spend forever with that voice.
With that man.

His smile is slow in coming
But worth the wait.
Soft just like that voice,
Lighting up his whole face.
A smile that makes me smile even when I don’t feel like smiling.
It’s crooked and not what you may call perfect,
But it’s perfect on him.
Just like the way that slight limp isn’t out of place at all,
But fits perfectly.
He ain't no Denzel or even a Will Smith.
It doesn’t matter, though, cause the package is complete.
You know what I’m saying?
Do you understand me?
You feel me right?

No, he’s not Vin Diesel with bulging biceps or striking looks.
His beauty is more tamed.
That’s cause it comes from some place else.
Some place inside.
His kindness, his caring, his sacrifice, his commitment,
His devotion, his respect, his passion, his morals.
Those things don’t come because of nice legs and tight abs.
They come from knowing and being comfortable with who you
Are even if being you ain't popular.

And because of those things mahogany skin seems a little bit smoother
And you can’t resist touching it.
Ebony eyes seem a little bit more mysterious, giving a little more sex appeal.
Five feet ten inches seems the exact height.
And 170 pounds seems the perfect weight.
Scrawny legs don’t look so odd.
And a bird chest is what you’ve always wanted.

Now isn’t that funny?
Funny that behind a desk beneath
All the clutter, the paper, the folders
There sat Prince Charming.
There was no evidence of his knight hood,
But there was evidence of the honor and the courage.
An ordinary man that does ordinary things,
But that’s the best thing about him.

Makes me feel like home.
Like sitting on Mama’s step, sucking on a baggy.
Like Junkanoo on Boxing Day.
Like conch fritters from the Fry.
Like well mudda sick.
Like home.
Like I could fall in love with that voice
That’s soft like a baby’s skin.
With that smile that’s as slow as molasses and just as sweet.
With the man and not a myth, not a fairy tale.
Just real, everyday, ordinary.

Kendy Ward
Copyright 2000