Trying to Pick Up Women at the Craft Fair
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What’s more humiliating Than knowing you would fake A love of hand-carved dolls To score a chance at dating Some hottie? One mistake In terminology (They’re “figurines”) and she Will stop returning calls.
Probably you can think Of worse scenarios Only because you’ve tried The “Pardon me (blink blink), You’ve such a chiseled nose, Are you a model?” ruse Too often when you cruise Car shows. Access denied.
Then there’s the Roadside-Crouch- And-Clutch-Your-Guts routine. Maybe some cute chick stops, You end up on her couch, But there it ends: the scene Breaks when you ask to crash At her place. Your panache Gets you one stiff hug, tops. [End Page 238]
Still, here you play the part Of tchotchke connoisseur; You chat girls up, they let you Down. Somewhere near the heart Of Aisle Sixteen (a blur Of boxwood jesters, grooms, And tipplers), one broad booms She doesn’t really get you.
Your last chance drives away. Your failures are a ton Of woodchips. And the deft Strokes of the knife? Each day That pares you down to one Less possibility For happiness. You see? Life whittles. You’re what’s left. [End Page 239]
Stephen Kampa has poems published or forthcoming in The Yale Review, Tampa Review, Cinncinnati Review, Subtropics, and other journals. His first book, Cracks in the Invisible, won the 2010 Hollis Summers Poetry Prize and the 2011 gold medal in poetry from the Florida Book Awards. He teaches at Flagler College and also works as a musician.
