Persnickety

everytime i try to return after a hiatus
i am too hard,
too unforgiving
i need to draw out the hermit
who sees beauty in ugliness,
poetry in an unpoetic populace.
politically incorrect, but valid:
i need to follow the strategy of the pervert
and lure her out with sugar this time.
who's to say i'm not a pervert anyway?
maybe not like those predators
whose crimes earn them a dot on a map
that worried parents study to soothe their fears
(though i hear each glance waxes what it's supposed to wane).
everyone has his own perversions, sins, flaws.
i have too many, myself.
but that should provide plenty of food for the hermit,
once she's exhausted the supply of saccharine positivity.