Selenium

You resemble a Ken doll who’s lost his tan,
a man-sized toy with unblinking fish eyes
that stare at your ceiling’s unmoving fan.
Our breeze has failed to materialize
so we rest in smoke exhaled from a joint,
our bodies in clam sauce, our needs unmet.  
I, like you, am wondering what’s the point
Unlike you, I’m pondering whether to get
a taxi to take me home or to fall
asleep bathed in white noise from your TV
set which is mounted on the bedroom wall.
The station’s off air. The remote, unseen.
I have fallen asleep not wanting to;
alone, untouched, as I dream of the moon.

(First published in "Yes Poetry," October 2019)