s./j. goldner - Exed

It’s always the same:
You meet them & they thrust their past
under the carpet—as fast
as possible—furtively, frantically,

Diverting your attention
with an obligatory compliment:
“You have the most beautiful eyes,
they must not be real.”

It’s as if they have just committed a crime
& must flee the scene before police arrive.
Why—what is so horrible you must not describe?
& if I try to make it known—why, I must be digging
Prying
Vying
To get your history out of you.

Why, it’s only because you’re so darn suspicious,
If you could be up-front about it
Why, I wouldn’t be so curious—
“What does it matter? ” he responds;

It is my own heart on the line.
“Are you the jealous type? ”
No need to water your ego,
I am trying to infer on your lack of conference.

Since you are unable to form the words
To my: So why do all the girls around here
Look like they’re praying for you to die?
“Uh, um, huh? ”

Nevermind—forget it,
I have learned by now men who are not open
Are not worth it—
Not worth the time to even ask: Hey, how was your last?

s./j. goldner

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