He Was a Poet and I Didn’t Know It

So I went on a date with a poet. This is the part where I advise you to ask more questions on dating apps before you agree to meet these people out in public. At an open mic night. Where he decides to go on stage. Only after letting you review his repertoire of poems and choosing the one that he should recite, while you are only half a drink into this date. If you have a soft spot for poets, then I have a phone number for you, but if you’re normal and are taken back by unexpected poetry then I welcome you. Open mic night? Cool. Let’s watch people make a fool, you sound like my type of date. Oh no. I was wrong. Nothing wrong with poets, before you frame me as being judgemental. I think it’s great to have passions. But clearly, we had different ones. I, an introvert, agreed to go to an open mic night to laugh at the people who decided to devolve themselves on stage. But my Bumble date had other ideas. He thought I would be impressed with his extensive knowledge of haikus. So I’m sitting at this brewery, reluctantly sipping on a beer because I don’t even like beer, talking to this stranger from the internet. When this open mic night starts, he introduces me to the MC. Oh cool, I guess he knows the people here. Right but slightly off. He’s performed here before. I, an introvert, I repeat, on a first date, drinking a substance I do not enjoy, am now being asked to choose the poem this man will recite on a stage, on our first and only date. In his defense, these poems seemed to have a lot of effort put into them, graphics and all. As I scroll through the poems, having done everything in my power to get out of the required poetry class in college, I make some ows and awws to this guy’s album. I can’t remember if he went with the one I chose, and I can’t blame him if he didn’t. As they call him up onto the stage and as I sink into my seat and drink the beer I have barely touched slightly faster, I mentally try to find my way out. Unfortunately, I am too nice at this point in my life, he recites another poem. I decide one drink and two poems are enough and say I have to wake up early the next morning. The poet walks me to my car and goes in for a limerick, jk I mean a hug. This is when I say:

I am sorry but

I’m not looking for any-

Thing serious now