The Hell Butterfly

Ode on a Failed Conversationalist

An interest he seems to show, it looks

as though he paid attention to the words

I said. How utterly astounding such

an act appears to me. A man who took

the time to memorise the details? God

forbid! Although, the words he uses are

not adequate to the task at hand. Compare:

an alligator lunging at his prey

should use his teeth, and yet this one instead

kills with his claws. The job is done howe’er

not in the way one would expect. In this

same way his tactless words express to me

the meaning in his mind, but not the smile.

His phrasing leaves a lot to be desired.

Yet this one seems to be trying. Suppose

I send reply to him and wait a while.

Godspeed, it flies and within hours he

has sent word back to me. Alas! Again

he tells me things I know already as

I was the one who wrote them! Though at least

this means he made a note of it. But wait.

Again the use of that same word? He has

no sense of a thesaurus! Everything

is interesting. My profile, character

and now my wit. I blame his job: he works

in computers. But this I did not find

out ‘til the message after this. And still

he tells me things are interesting. My quirk

of picture editing has drawn his eye

and this, too, makes him express interest.

What a fool. He tells me he’d like to know

more about my literary work and

says he senses originality.

Originality? I should hope so!

I did not join this line of work to steal

ideas from another, after all.

Oh god he likes commercial dance. Dear Lord,

pray tell me this is false? What is

this nonsense? And he prefers the beat

above the words? Well I prefer a chord

above the melody but I still know

the value of a single note. Likewise

the value of the words should hold a place

of higher ranking than a simple beat.

What’s wrong with you? But I will write you back

as I am a good human being. My face

may now be one with palm, yet I’ll reply.

I tell him of my love of editing

and send him the synopsis of my book.

Alas, he is a man! I did not know!

Whatever did posses me to believe

he would not ever comment on my looks?

And then his own! He wants a photograph

of me and in return I will receive

a one from him. I’d rather not, thank you.

I edit my own photographs because

my face would melt your own if you clapped eyes

on it. And even so, I don’t want to.

To top it off you tell me that you like

a certain artist more than most and so

I ask that you would recommend a song

To me. You tell me no, you have not heard

much from that person recently. Well done.

So far everything you have done is wrong.

This interchange of messages shall cease

if you don’t change. It’s not my fault: I’m a woman.


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