He never seemed too picky

He never seemed too picky,
Always acquiring them rather easily;
Movie theater, skating rink; bar scene
The young and inexperienced seemed to suffer more;
Older, more mature ones had lowered expectations,
And they were each as suitable as the other; practically exchangeable,
When it came right down to it.
They all had the same identical gear, between the legs.
And as he was good looking, he never had to ask twice.

Soon enough they had the reddened eyes, the perpetual frown
Well etched, on their sculpted, modular faces;
Grappling with his petulances, his thundering tantrums,
Always arriving with no warning, until they had learned to recognize
That single sharp intake of breath, just before the start of the tirades.
The causes were varied; a wrinkled shirt, some anonymous new carpet stain;
As if they had moved in, putting their own lives in suspended animation
Only to become his personal caretaker, maid, and sometimes-courtesan.

It never lasted long, the storm of agony and ecstasy-
Heavily weighted, on the agony side.
He became just another despairing nightmare of memory,
For after the first night of thoughtful wining and dining,
They were inevitably hooked; like a thin, starving fish,
That's been auspiciously reeled in
Within sight and smell, of a fine seafood restaurant;
Which in their confused state of hunger,
They usually mistook for a fish feeding station;
As if even were such a thing had existed.

They slowly got used to being slapped, pushed around,
After the first virtually forgettable violations.
Made too, to feel responsible for everything he did to them;
He was a proud member of the school espousing
That it's always the fault of the girl, and never the poor rapist,
Himself victim, of unbearable impulses, from time immemorial.
But he stopped just short, of actually pimping them;
He had a healthy fear of incurable infections, and also since
One should never drink at the same watering trough, as the livestock.

His interest in them would irrevocably begin dying
It's extensive, melodramatic death, since to totally possess anything
Is the easiest route, to the bottomless descent
Into contempt's quagmire.
In truth, he had realized some time ago, that he had more love
For any one of his four cats, than he had ever had,
Any place in his overly smooth, blank heart, for any single one of them:
For the cats stayed on and on;
A rare fixture in his overly mobile universe,
But the girls soon went away,
In a white-hot, dead heat
Having altogether nothing to do
With the passion of reproduction.

It only made him smile the more,
That he would now be able to go on,
To select another fancy model, of the latest new style;
One who hadn't yet forgotten how to smile.
He loved to watch that gradual changing of their expressions; from a girlish joy
To that numbed look of hopelessness, while under his power.
He played with them all for a while, in his stilted imagination,
Trying to decide whether a blond or a redhead
Was the perfect accompaniment, for the coming holiday season.
He'd been expecting the new emerald drapes to arrive any time;
The purchase of some deep leather sofas strongly appealed
To the bachelor pad images in his mind, which began to dance then
Like so many Sugarplum fairies, and as the place was already beginning
To become much too quiet again, he had to move soon.
At least he never charged for his competent services..