There was a young man on the phone
Who, tired of feeling alone
Himself, he invited
To see her, excited
To let her disclose the unknown
In person, they side eyed and skirted
Their senses, all highly alerted
Would he make a move?
Would they find a groove?
[ Both would have rather they’d flirted. ]
The next day, his silence was stark
Up the wrong tree did he bark?
Was it maybe her nose?
Or, rather, her toes?
Her atoms? an aberrant quark?
Whatever the reason, he balked
Though for six weeks, at least, they had talked
A foreplay of words
An affair for two nerds
Now, away from the woman he walked.
No matter the timbre or tone
Breathy alto, or bass-baritone
Favor fun, as you must
Savor fellowship, too, just
Don’t fall in love on the phone.
Copyright 8/16/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. No copying, in whole, part, or via translation, permitted. Thank you for respecting original material.