Love Poem

My friend Carmel asks me
to write a love poem, not about
her, but about love in general.
You don't write any love
poems, she says, you skirt
around the issue. So I try.
I write a few lines, sit back
and read them, reread them,
then ball up the paper and toss it
across the room towards
the trash can, I try again
with the same result.
The paper striking the can
wakes up my dog who is curled
on three pillows near my chair.
He lifts his head, blinks at me,
then closes his eyes again. I love
that dog despite myself, despite him.
But the subject of love
is tough, maybe it can't be done
without sounding like every greeting
card catching dust in the drugstore.
I think about all the women
that I've professed love to, not that
many, really, and they in return to me,
even less, and I wonder if it was the real
thing. Maybe it was lust, infatuation,
the curve of her when she bent
over to water the plants, or the way she
put on lipstick before going out that night
to get dinner and to see a movie.
I'd like to think that at this age
I've got a handle on what love is,
or is supposed to be, but no.
I think though, that it might
have something to do with the
cold fear of losing someone.
Maybe. That might be it.
But one thing is certain, I don't stop
wanting it, or looking for it, or
accepting it when it appears amazingly
on my doorstep. I don't know,
I'll try again later with this love poem
idea. Maybe I need a cocktail to get
it started in the right direction,
I'm sorry Carmel, but this
will have to do for now.