Which One Is He? Poem by Dianne Feaver

He's the one in the sweater,
talking to someone new and yes,
I know him. He aims to encourage her
with his casual talk of truth.
He will sugarcoat it well, infuse it
with enough pity to encourage
the touching of sleeves, hands
(and if he can really enthuse) a thigh.

At this point I could warn her
but I stand aside, let them...imbibe.
I am in no danger of being trampled
by the crowd in which they hide.
All terror and shock to come
she looks at him like rays of sun
across an old, tired building,
long abandoned, still standing,
its foundation wired
and slated for destruction.