I Paid $22 For A Burger Or In Which I Guess I Am Not Attractive
after L. Hart

It is my firm belief
that if you do not think I am beautiful
you should not ask me on a date.

Dates are expensive.

And if you are not
Googly-eye incarnate
we are wasting our time here.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie.

At the very least,
if you are not taken by me
do not let me be the person you call.

Because you planned this.

This over-priced dinner date for two–
that I am collapsing into,
mutating into a fawn once more.

Stuck, or sticking in the molasses of your scorn.

As you smile,
say, “I’ve given up on beautiful women,”
say, “I’m so glad to be here with you.”

A clear line dividing.

As you smile,
say, “pretty women can’t hold a conversation,”
say, “see how easy it is to talk to one another?”

I tell you I am not a woman.

Somehow, it changes nothing.
You spin the word “stunning” in your mouth
and launch it at anything but me.

Reinforcing looks were the baseline you were evaluating.

Thank me for being
more “interesting” than anything else
and look at the women around the room.

Waiting for the next who, with hope, will not respond.