to my suitor, whose name may be Bob

great. there’s
nothing wrong with you.
you’re perfectly agreeable, not bad
looking, willing to attend
all the mics and shows and
stuff, the perfect
audience member. you
bought me a drink
at the last event
where I met you. thank you
for that, by the way. but
you’re awfully handsy,
when it was scarcely warranted,
and frankly you are lacking the edge
that I have come to relish
in the kind of men to whom
I find myself attracted. you laugh
at all my jokes, but contribute
none of your own. where’s
your art? I’ll need to see a lot more
proof of your credentials
before I consider more seriously
your suit.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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