Not a Bad Guy

“He’s not a bad guy, I suppose,” I said
as we both appraised him  
(or rather the back of his head)  
at the bar sipping overpriced scotch  
staring out the country club window  
fiddling with his antique watch  
in leather loafers and crisp khaki slacks  
like a vintage menswear ad  
business casual, professionally relaxed  
no, I guess he is not bad  
despite every attempt I made  
to find some irredeemable fault  
something ugly enough to kill  
the infatuation in your eyes  
as you watch him pay the bill  
or perhaps thank the waiter  
or order another drink on a whim –  
The hell I know because I’m not watching  
I’m looking at you as you look at him