A fighting chance
The room is full of gabbing heads and blonde ambition,
it’s a minute past the hour we meet
when she walks in.
I have been more than saved
and “I believe in a thing called love”
starts blaring in the jukebox of my mind.
I wait for her eyes to answer the flare of my own
and validate the subtle gesture like a confederacy coat.
I do no appear at all anxious or expecting
when she takes the seat next to mine
but, inside
I am hyperventilating and sure that God exists.
We are less than engaged in routine conversation
because I cannot hold her gaze and my facade of indifference
at the same time.
I do not appear faint or near breaking while she speaks
but, inside
I am reeling and scarcely catch every other word
which makes me respond between incomplete sentences
and “oh”.
I am mostly certain that she has no idea
what I’m feeling but, I am not a perfect machine.
I have been simultaneously piling up and paring back
what would be Fort Inconspicuous,
if she never looked at me.
I was not the least bit rude or outwardly drooling
but you cannot imagine the amount of self restraint that is required
being so close to a veritable beauty
I may never have the occasion to touch.
I am taken and genuinely intrigued, even in serious like
with this one,
but I will not fall for her bright smile.
I will chasten my pulsing heart with both fists
and come to appreciate her company
without the corruption of MORE,
or What if?
NO, this time will be different.
I will dumb down my expectations
and toast to a half full glass of water with a thimble of scotch,
sipping with caution and no intention of getting drunk
to forget my problems.
I can do this, I can just be her friend,
the newly subdued and wholly neutered
hopeless romantic
who will pretend not to be hurt
when this fighting chance
becomes polluted by failure.
