Written by m ennenbach

the poet here

she stood with a smirk that read danger and gleam in her eyes that said it was too late

so you’re the poet

i nodded unsure of her intent

do you write to get women

i shook my head as confusion settled in

she was lovely

a petite lady with eyes of fire and lips that longed to be kissed

her friend who was my friend told her about me and asked me to meet her for coffee

she had the misguided idea i was interested in finding love

i blame it on the poetry

i read some of it you know

i feel the blush on my cheeks

this was the last thing i had hoped for

you think you’re clever don’t you, metaphors and flowery words instead of just saying what you’re thinking

i shrugged wondering if she noticed i had yet to say a word

judging by her stance she was indifferent to what i had to say

i didn’t like it

i just nod and wonder if running away is an option yet or if this farce needs to continue

i mean, it was okay, some of it seemed pretty sad, like sad sad not pathetic sad but it came close

my car was right there

ten steps

i felt my keys in my pocket

begging me to pull them out

my phone buzzed

is it rude to look at it in the face of my presence in front of her being unimportant

i don’t know

she just stares at me

sizing me up

but i am curious

i feel myself frown

buy me a coffee and we can talk about it

i nod dejectedly and open the door for her

she gives a half hearted glare as i hold it and stomps through

i hear mutter something about a gentleman in sarcastic tones

i don’t really think i want a coffee any longer but follow in while sneaking a glance at my phone

it’s out mutual friend

she wants to know how it is going

i thumb t e r r as the hellcat turns towards me

in a panic i hit the suggested word figuring terrible will be first up

i see terrific send

fuck

we stand in line

silence hangs like a funeral shroud

her phone let’s out a chime

she has no hesitation about pulling it out and stares for a moment

then she gives me a sideways glance and shrugs

i don’t know what is happening

not even a little

she steps to the counter and orders something i couldn’t fathom with no whip

that’s a plus

maybe

then i hear her say to the barrista

it’s on the poet here

i hate my life

31 thoughts on “the poet here”

  2. Ah. auto-select missed out on /s.

    I’m left wishing for a different outcome…
    turning to the barista…and saying no…
    it’s a coffee met not a coffee date,
    the cup’s on her.

    Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean you’re an asshole. It just means you respect yourself more than they do. This one is frustrating. I was rooting for you to just walk off, directly look at the text, let the door close behind her as you go the other way, anything but what happened. I guess, only in my fantasies. Fantastic write, painful read. This one made me bleed.

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                  1. I’ve found it helps if you come bearing cookies. Or, I mean, I imagine it would. So somebody told me once.

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                    1. you can come over for a pants off dance anytime you want my friend. cookies are optional. there is something wild westerny about two men just having a conversation as the breeze ruffles their manhood. Like my uncle used to do. Before he went to prison.

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                    2. Oh, whatever. Don’t even go there. Last time we did that you blew me off for like three months.

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