Short Poem

The Blind Date

She told me to not be so damn perfect.

It wasn’t that I was trying all that hard.

I told her this.  I truly did.  I did.

I did, I did, I did, I did, and I did.

You think she listened to me.

No.  No.  No.

Each no for what I presume to be one of her emotions.

She didn’t listen to me,

For she was intrigued too much.

Maybe, my thick hair.

Maybe, my biceps.

Or, my imported leather jacket.

Were any of those her reasons?

She didn’t let herself hear of my minor flaws.

It didn’t even enter the space between her head to listen.

She hardly knew me, and to make it worse, she was such a stubborn, little thing.

I would’ve let her slip her hand into my pocket: back or side, if I cared

To listen to her chattering on and on.

It wasn’t that I tried to get to this point as she drank her cosmopolitans.

I did.  I did.  I did.  I did.  I did.

This wasn’t the right woman for me.  It wasn’t the right woman, at all.

She had none of the characteristics I was seeking.

I wasn’t sure why she put my entire essence on a gold encrusted pedestal.

If only it were real, then there’d be something to get excited about.

How I wish it was both, the gold and our initial meeting, at the same time.

This girl wanted to be a gigantic do it yourself woman.

This bubbling world we call modern life isn’t suited for men like me.

As the saying goes, she was turned on.

Yet, I didn’t want to go anywhere with her, suitable or not.

I’m all for bringing chivalry back,

But not when it includes this kind of woman.

Certainly not.

Certainly not.

Most certainly, definitely, absolutely not.

But something held me back.

I couldn’t run even if I had tried.

So, don’t fault me for not leaving,

Because when a man cracks,

Everyone hears it.

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