We sat across from each other in a dimly lit restaurant and I wished I hadn’t chose the seat with a clock in plain sight. I shredded a napkin between my fingers while fishing for words without bait. As he wiped condensation from his glass, I pushed the bits of paper into my hand and piled them in the corner of the table. During the time spent "perfecting" that pile, I pondered deeming the act a delicacy. As farfetched as that sounds, I couldn’t really help it. I dreaded the moment when our eyes would meet again, paired with our own versions of “let’s pretend this isn’t horrible” smiles. No teeth, of course.

I wasn’t nervous about this evening or this man; in fact, my feelings about him were quite certain. He is decent looking, well-spoken, and kind. Despite my initial reaching for the doorknob, he insisted that I enter the restaurant first. Those who know me know I am adamant about holding the door for others, fueled equal parts by principle and politeness, but after a few seconds of lighthearted bargaining, I sensed that he just wasn’t getting that. I reluctantly surrendered with a mannerly grin as he swung the door open. I was not bothered by the fact that he didn’t get it, but more that it didn’t seem worth trying to convince him otherwise.

After we were seated, he mentioned how cold October has been, and how “cool” the leaves look, and carefully spilled a few other cordialities on the table. I cleaned them mostly with agreement, but nothing more. He laughed when I told him I like to read the works of Jonathan Kozol “for fun,” and again when he saw the USA Today in my purse (realizing that I wasn’t kidding when I said I like to read that too). I wasn’t offended. Aside from being used to that sort of response, his laugh was not one of ridicule, but more a laugh of disbelief. A laugh that replaces silence while one reasons with the unfamiliar. Perhaps I would have been offended if he let me hold the door, or if he wanted to know why that mattered so much, but he didn’t, and from that I knew where this was going before it even started moving.

I wasn’t nervous about this evening or this man, but rather, finding the man I wish he was during an evening of which I dream. I wondered how many more napkins I would tear and niceties I would exchange before meeting someone passionate and riveting and curious. Someone who thinks the autumn leaves are “breathtaking,” and laughs at my USA Today because he reads the New York Times. Someone who is just as obstinate about holding doors, but is never annoyed when I say "after you," because he knows I have a point to prove, too. I won't have to explain it, although he will ask me to anyway, just so we can bicker through our smiles at the dinner table. And when he tells me I am "too stubborn," it will be implied that he appreciates my stubbornness most of all. Someone who just appreciates me. I was nervous that man might never -

“Hi guys, are you ready to order?”

You don't have to do that
Spare me the Monday evening cordialities
Have you even considered the fact
That I am always looking away
As you walk up the stairs?

You don't have to do that
Catch my attention with your smile
Ask how I am doing
As if my answer might sway your next move:
A "see you later" in mid-stride
How symbolic

You don't have to do that
Because I don't need any favors
"I always acknowledge you"
As though it is some sort of obligation
And I should be thankful for your kindness

You don't have to do that
Because I do not care for
Routine hellos and overused smiles
Stained with the implication
Of a shallow rapport

You don't have to do that
Better yet
You have my permission to walk right past me
Every Monday evening
Because I am not interested
In acquaintanceship

You don't have to do that
Because in the same way it is hard to unsee
It is hard to unfeel
And I don't know how much longer
I can tell you I am "well"
Without wishing or waiting to explode

You don't have to do that
Because your eyes
Carry the prose I shared
Written by of a part of me
With which I am still unfamiliar

You don't have to do that
Because I am unable to pretend
The reciprocity of our passions
Is merely common
And irrelevant

You don't have to do that
Because it is impossible to deny that
We have chemistry
We have chemistry

But please
You don't have to do that
Because
Believe me
Had I known the sparks
Would result in wildfire
I would have extinguished them immediately

I am working to put out the flames
But it is awfully hard
While you are fanning the embers

people keep foprgetting social conventions,
or what's apparently known as
the "failing" national health service...
well...
             it's already demeaning that
the receptionist is required to wear
a dog collar with a: my name is...
             but to excuse yourself without
introducing a social norm of cordiality
with a: good morning?
i.e. jumping queue straight into a function
of a human being?
                   as an automaton?
            north street medical care,
infamous in how hard it is to get an appointment
to see a medical bureaucrat (i.e.
a general practitoner - g.p.) -
          i just walked in, haven't seen my g.p.
in over two years...
                 and i asked for a message to be
passed...
       i say to her: i'm leaving on the 22nd
to visit my grandparents to paint their kitchen...
she says she can't squeeze me in,
tells me i have to come back tomorrow and
book an appointment...
       and then a change of heart...
  5 minutes later i have a face-to-face
appointment with my Sikh bodyguard...
               proud to say my beard is longer
than his...
               i walk in 10 minutes late
and he's still wondering why i dare to mention
spaghetti cognition, or why i don't like
to talk about my ills, rather succumbing to
the ease of writing about it...
          i says to him:
               you know, sometimes past noon,
thinking in itself because debilitating,
with such a psychological exhaustion
i tend to entertain a body, in lethargy...
                     so he says i should take my
notes to a psychiatrists...
problem is... these "notes" have become
published work, in a town in a land in a people
who took me seriously...
              just for kicks i'll visit her...
          oh, she was big, she did a doc. on
r. d. laing... dr. moncrieff...
        ****... one of those
        anne sexton / john berryman moments...
        so i sat down, and watched as 3 patients
were turned down from an appointment...
one even exclaimed in: shock & disbelief
   that she was turned down...
     hardly the charm offensive,
     all i said i said softly, quietly,
         with a good morning to allow me entry...
pigeon farts...
                      or: it would only be deemed
lucky if a trafalgar ***** took a ****
on me if i were wearing a top hat...
     bingo!
                all it takes it a bit of tact...
saying good morning to a receptionist,
who is paranoid about a.i. receptionists...
as i am paranoid about
automated phone-centre cut-backs...
not even proud blue Indians of the Raj
behind that blind curtain...
                     because does language
always has to revolve around verbs?
         how can the tongue be equal to
but less than a limb?
        imagine the para-olympics
with deaf people...
                   who shoots what to make
a false start?!
                         a biology teacher
once told a whole class that
your sense of balance is in your ears,
rather than in your eyes...
      two weeks later, a moderate muslim
that she was, she puts on a hijab in
a catholic school... hey presto!
               we have our first nun-morph!
charmer... well... the petrol station
manager talked with a thick
Bombai accent,
      we exchanged cordialities...
  good day sir, good day that,
       bought a bottle of fizzy water,
forgot to buy a cup of coffee...
    good day, hope you have a good day,
how's your day coming along, yada yada yada...
but there is still a social convention,
an agreement:
             not even akin to:
i wash your back, you wash mine...
  more on the lines of:
you don't get in my way,
         i don't get in yours.
                                                savey?
how simple a respect for a receptionist
becomes,
to merely introduce yourself with
a good morning,
   like some old retired **** of a man
creaking with arthritis...
                                  but rules are rules...
and approaching someone
with some grand: you need to do this for
me attitude, gets you the undesired
revolving door, of barking up the wrong tree!
patience is all but left,
when all other virtues have been exhausted;
patience is not a virtue,
it's what you might call a razor
           when hanging off a cliff's edge;
as the proverb goes:
       a drowning man will resort to
               grabbing a razor to stay afloat:
patience is not a virtue:
                                 it's the last resort.