"No Chemistry"

She was a master of Human Resources,
   an expert in reading people's energy.

Our first date commenced with a ritual of
   pandemic safety. 
She swiftly swabbed, joked, photographed,
   and implored me to keep my tiny test strip as a memento.
She maintained there was no chemistry.

Highly personal disclosures flowed easily from her,
   which I warmly embraced and asked about.
She asserted there was no chemistry.

Upon lamenting her tense shoulders
   I offered a short massage,
To which she agreed,
   in which she luxuriated.
She denied there was any chemistry.

When her food arrived
   she implored me to partake,
   and invited me to a second date
   immediately after.
She was convinced there wasn’t any chemistry.

She confessed her insecurities about impending wrinkles,
   nervously played with her hair,
   and avoided direct eye contact for long stretches —
   all classic signs of attraction.
She insisted there wasn't any chemistry.

Our next stop was a vintage store,
   where she started to put her arm around me,
   and tried on clothes for my approval.
She swore she felt no chemistry.

At the end of the date
   she bestowed not one
   but two hugs,
   wanted to get together again,
   asked me to call her . . .

She was a master of Human Resources,
   an expert in reading people's energy,
   yet cannot recognize real chemistry . . .

 

April 2022

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©2022, Michael Smolens