It’s the same.
Always the same
story.
I’m a week away
from a friend’s
wedding
and I’m dateless.
It’s familiar but
still bitter and
cruel.
I don’t enjoy it.
I’m not sure how to
do it. I don’t know
how to meet her.
Where she hangs out,
what she likes in
her
coffee.
It’s not their
fault.
I don’t blame them,
much. I’ve just
been
here before.
In the depot of the
dateless wonders.
Same old posters on
the walls. Same
shaggy
panhandler in the
corner.
Same tired subway
tiles
fighting against
the ravages
of time. I’ll sit
on this
bench and wait.
I keep thinking she’ll
arrive in her beautiful
nerdiness, but so
far,
that train is
delayed.
Or derailed.
Till then I’ll
suffer
the humiliation of
a
charity date from a
friend.
As is usual.
Customary.
Where I've been.
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