I saw her first across the bowling alley,
Laughing at her own gutter ball.
She flipped her long black hair
Over her shoulder;
She wore a golden cross necklace
That bounced lazily against her
Beautiful olive colored skin.
Lady Gaga blaring from the speakers
Prompted her to dance back to her friends,
Who smile at her antics.
All of a sudden, she looks over at me, and
I try to pretend I wasn’t staring,
But it’s too late.
She smiles shyly, without her teeth,
Just a slight turn of her pink lips,
And her cheeks redden slightly.
Whatever manliness I still had in me
Melted when I saw her smile.
I smile back in what I think is a cute way.
My friends cries break thought my thoughts,
“It’s your turn!”  “Go already!”
Yet I can’t break my eyes off of her.
She goes to her friends and sits down,
Sips her Coke quietly.
“Go!”
I look at the clock.
I’ve wasted five minutes of the game.
I blame the girl in Lane 7.

Most of the people hate isolation
only a few taking it as blessing
and such is the one I'm talking about.

What if the familiar have shunned me,
he would say, the world is now mine,
to the strangers I bare my heart,
as they do to me, a complete stranger,
in the once and possibly the only meet
between people otherwise divided
exchanging thoughts and contacts
sure no call would ever follow
but happy in the chance encounter.

He thus meets a melange of people,
the man whose wife fled with her lover,
the woman whose husband deserted her
but she still wears red in his name,
the son abandoned in childhood
the old woman disowned by son.

He takes all their sadness into him
and feels his own greatly diminished
thankful that fate hasn't been as harsh
or how he would have coped with
the misfortunes that befelled those strangers.

He bows his head, for in the isolation,
he knew how it hurts to be deprived of
what was obviously legitimate.