The Missed Connections guy felt too deft to play this game:
Fourteen streets and eleven grocery stores,
One restaurant and three bookstores,
No one glanced back; not the same way he was glancing
Jesus Christ, Craigslist needed more poetry and less fiction
He wandered all day, hoping to find it written, and
accidentally forgotten in a taxi cab
Instead he found a woman’s shoe and an empty condom wrapper
He left them there for the rest of Craigslist
He wanted movie theater sparks and hopeless longing written
with Ezra Pound’s thesaurus
No woman would provide it no matter how many times he stood
in Whole Foods staring at the Naked Juice and back down at her legs
Standing in Borders reading ee cummings, and back up at her lips – the ones muttering at the back of the paperback
No matter how many times he wrote inane witty couplets on
bar napkins to slide one seat down
He even tried a young man once - he looked like someone
Socrates would talk to and so he smirked, but the boy’s strong jaw contracted
and turned away
He talked to m4wm and m4m. He couldn’t find enough substance
to write a fiction. They had no plot. MAKE MONEY ON YOUR OWN TERMS wouldn't listen. He couldn't feel rejection.
There was no more poetry in Craigslist. It is all fiction or
caricature. He wanted blood and flesh for simple blushing. No one is shy.
Everyone is creepy.
The Missed Connections guy went home and sat in front of his computer.
There is now one more Rants & Raves guy.