Two months after the last time we’ve had any contact, she apparently is still looking over her shoulder for an ogre that isn’t me.
Although the poem feels as if it is aimed at me or at some other poor fool that has mistakenly flown into her web and has graduated from creepy-crawly to a full-blown stalker.
As in some of her other poems, there seems to be three characters involved, one who is warning another about a third – that illusive stalker-like character who prowls around, but whom the speaker just can’t nail down, a sullen, moody, even cantankerous little boy, who get annoyed for no good reason.
But it is easy to overlook the real meaning of this poem by assuming the obvious and mistaking her metaphor as the essence of the poem, when she means something completely different.
On the surface, the poem seems to depict a stalker, and the speaker cautioning herself against him.
In this aspect, the speaker sounds utterly reasonable, but needs to remind herself that this ill-tempered boy is still somewhere out there, but she is unable to pin down. She can’t catch him at his tricks, and tells herself she needs to look quick, needs to nail him down, someone she won’t be rid of until she does – suggesting that if she does catch him, she needs to buy him a stiff drink.
As with many of her poems, this poem’s tone is set by the use of short, rapid-fire lines, denoting a certain paranoia. The main character sees herself as street smart, someone strutting along, looking around, savvy enough to be aware of who might be pursuing her.
The use of the term “petulant frat boy” sets up a kind of extended metaphor, painting her pursuer as a mischievous urchin, a pest that she doesn’t take too seriously, but is annoyed by.
Images include quick eye movement as if to catch a glimpse in the corner of her eye, and a sense that she is out of breath, perhaps from fleeing or surprise at his constant tapping on her shoulder.
But the real metaphor includes the title which implies he’s a fool and she needs to be patient. He is clever, illusive, but a giggling. fool none the less.
But there is a deeper meaning in all this, which has nothing to do with stalkers or stalking, but with the illusive dreams she just can’t catch up with, fitting somewhat the pattern of her other recent poems. No matter how she tries to catch her lucky star, it always eludes her, and she needs to be patient if she is to fulfill her ambitions.
What she wanted was there a minute ago, she swears.
She tells herself to catch her breath before he taps her on her shoulder again, opportunity knocking, but then fleeing from her, out of reach, almost mocking her efforts.
In some ways, it doesn’t seem real and certainly out of reach, and she seems to feel as if fate is mocking her, teasing her with near misses, tapping her on the shoulder she didn’t look over, a leprechaun promising a pot of gold if she can catch him, only she never can.
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