Missed Connection

To the Ginger on the 20 bus:

You are my missed connection

I love the way the cold brings out

Your rosy-cheeked complexion

You catch it by the Brown Line stop

Do you come from that direction?

Bare fingers trace your I-Pod touch

Can I be your selection?

I know I’m weird, please don’t get Mace

Or an order of protection

But I will say when I see your face

I get a big…

        Desire to talk to you

        This isn’t anything that’s sexual

        How can it be? There’s no chemistry

        My eye contact’s ineffectual

        And my rhyme’s whack, just all fucked up

        ‘Cause I can’t rhyme with sexual

        Unless I say how I always read

        And you are never textual

So I’ll switch up my flow

And away we go

To talk of Picasso

And his theory

Of how each woman is either

A goddess or a ho

Now I ain’t sayin’ I agree

But if I did, you’d be

My very own Venus de Transpo

        Oh, my God! Did I write this shit?

        What the hell is wrong with me?

        Creepy poems don’t ever ever work

        I should have listened to Chris V

        Too late! You’ve got the pepper spray

        I’m blind, I cannot see!

        I writhe in pain on the slushy bus floor

        And bemoan my complexity

        When a girl I know wants to give it up

        All I can think to do is flee

        But you won’t give up the time of day

        And now I’m writing poetry?

        I need to leave this writing life

        And rejoin society

        Rather than sitting alone in Jimmy John’s

        Where I scribbled this fucked-up plea

        From my head, which has been wrecked

        By Hollywood falsity

        I can’t “Say Anything,” girls don’t like that shit

        In my reality

        So it’s back to life, and girls I know

        That want the perfect mix CD.