You’re sitting next to me at the bar as I scrawl this poem on a napkin,
And thank goodness English isn’t your first language
Or I would be far more nervous about you glancing over
And accidentally learning that I am writing about you.
The bartender I care less about since he doesn’t seem too judgmental–
I don’t mean that you seem that way to me, of course!
I know next to nothing about you apart from your smile,
But I want to believe you are as lovely as you look.
I know I’m supposed to talk to you.
You let me know that when you switched seats–
When the host placed you two seat away at the bar
And you said, “No, thank you,” and claimed the seat beside me.
But I probably won’t turn to you and open my mouth
To say, “Are you here on vacation?” or some other bromide,
Because what if I misread the signs and ruin your night;
What if I’d only be the latest guy to intrude on your alone time?
Maybe all the pretty girls have this problem with bothersome men,
Or maybe their problem is that guys like me
Are far too timid to initiate a simple conversation
Because what would we even say? Then what might you say?
And just when I thought I had my chance to comment
On your unique choice of ice cream flavour–
Really, who gets “sea asparagus”? Who even creates it?–
You turn to your phone and the opportunity is lost.