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The Amoebas

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The tinnitus soldier
Marched on in his meager existence
Spending most of his time at home
A four-room complex in a latex condominium
Or at his regular haunts
He was a simple yet squalid man
The type of man content to eat in a restaurant in the basement of a department store
One day, over his meal of blackened eggs and an endless stream of mentholated cigarettes
Sitting at his regular table (the one by the window that overlooked the lingerie department)
Barking orders at the elderly, heavyset Hispanic waitress
He spied a girl entering the changing room with an overtly laced undergarment
Casting his mind into the changing room, he could see her remove all of her clothes, which to his imagination were few, and slipping the silken purple negligee over her naked curves
The sensation running up his spine was completely unlike sensations he had not felt since the last time he was ogling teenage girls
Calling for his check and putting his cigarette out in his eggs, he waited for her to emerge from the cubicle that had witnessed her unabashed nudity
He followed her around the store, the entire ride up the escalator trying to see beyond her hemline, or down her shirt at other points, hoping that his fantasies would be proved true
Eventually, when he could contain himself no longer, he ran to the nearest convenience store and purchased an erotic publication
Returning to his departmentalized haven, he ran to her changing room
Threw open the pages
Loosened the belt from his withering frame
And smelled for her scent in the room
And on the page (and on the page)
He never saw (he never saw)
He never knew (he never knew)
He saw her face (he saw her face)
He can't recall (he can't recall)
The one in print (the one in print)
But he will swear (on his dying bed)
That is was her

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