If I were to offer myself to an old man
by Nicholas Smith

If I were to offer myself to an old man
I’d make him pay.
I’d need the money and I’d make him pay.
As he buys the hotel room,
I tell him to make it nice.
His trembling shrunken lips
a presage of death
White straggly hairs
His lap a guide
to forgetting and function.
Always the money
lying on the dresser near the bed
so I can see it,
always within reach
and always looking
at it instead of him.
Money for the fare.

If I were to offer myself to jihad,
one mission for a government culture
or a Jesus
and so on for Law or Cunt,
explosions and justifications
up the butt,
the only thing it could give me
that I want
is the companionship
of taking someone along.

If I were to offer myself to an old woman
again there'd be the money
but I could look at her
and myself.
She's going to die,
and the most I can do is pleasantly speed it along.
Humor me
and think of me
as a comfort to an old woman
so long as I do my job.

If I were to offer myself to a young woman
I'd resign myself to failure.

If I were to offer myself to God,
dreaming and the dreamer
of wondrous visions in name of virtue
light truth,
if I were to spread my legs for Buddha
or heaven or oneness
Something,
I'd be sure to get
God dreamers dreaming
wondrous visions
virtue and light truth
Buddha heaven oneness
Something.
I'd make the Bastard pay.

If I were to offer myself to a young man,
I'd be lonely.
I'd try to make it for money,
but he wouldn't take me for money
when he could get better for free.
If I took money out of the deal
and made it for loneliness,
all I could hope for is pity.
Pity and forgetfulness.

If I were to offer myself to work
at some business, large or small,
for some employer, cruel or kind,
in exchange for money, much or little,
I would live long,
help others live long
who, in their turn, make others who, in their turn, live long.
Why this is a good thing
I'm not sure,
but I would live long.

If I were to offer myself
just one night
to a middle-aged banker
with a gut and ungrateful kids
and a bright red convertible
that smells like his wife and his dog,
how long would he stall
before turning me down?

If I were to offer myself to you,
not just a game of Pick Up the Soap,
but me,
you should look at me and ask
what I have to offer.

If I were to offer myself to land,
not just any land
but mine,
I'd want it forever
any home for my house
built and grown like corn
so my children's children can feed their children's children.
But children slip away like dust
and try to find their own place,
already meant for other people's children.
Then other people's children,
in due time,
take that land
with children fighting children
for land I never wanted
and
it turns out
neither did they.
Land traded so easily
is only for the anyones.

If I were to offer myself to myself,
I'd joke that I do that every time
I wander round the Web.
It's not a matter
of stroking
but acceptance.
Then again,
acceptance is
too long looking in the mirror,
eye stroking.

If I were to offer myself to David Bowie,
I'd have to fight to get to him.
I find out where his concert is,
or if there are no concerts,
find his home,
and if there are no homes because he's dead
I find his grave.
Bargain for tickets,
push crowds
bribe guards
jump fences
dig for hours
in the dead of night
while watching out for cops
with the best damn shovel money can buy.
But the tickets are too expensive,
there are fans more eager,
one guard is always loyal
cuz Bowie saved his life,
the fences are too high,
and Bowie is sealed in a locked coffin
-- he thought ahead --
and all I can do is stop
two feet away
behind fans a guard the lock
and shout
"I offer myself to you, David Bowie!"
with all the sincerity I can bear.
He walks away, not listening,
or else he stares ahead.
If I were insensible, I'd be mad,
but as I stand above his coffin,
I accept him for who he is.
He's Bowie.
He can do what he wants.

If I were to offer myself to people,
giving them food blood help support
when they cannot get it themselves,
I wouldn't do it for gratefulness.
People are never as grateful as you want them to be.
I'd do it for my smug superiority
my grand magnanimity
as they beg or demand the things they can only get from me.
They know the smile I give them.
That's why they're never grateful.