From the ample years of solitude,
many perfect the withdrawal tactic
others fail miserably; repeatedly.
It explains why when eyes dart their way,
they dart off course—or bounce off;
and why when accosted,
they sidestep—or run off.
Their tiny stud of solace is,
a marriage to deaf abandon
one without vows of forever.
But their bouquet labelled:
‘minding my business’ sings
of ‘if only I got an invite’ bells.
From the loop of things,
theirs becomes a cyclical barrage
of unwitting click buttons and pops.
And like a union that counts faults,
when they have a business with you,
you would catch your sub sitting somewhere
—in ‘cheerios’ and off the line;
or you grey out your dark tufts
while your dirty linen is debated.