they ask

they ask me why i'm single why i must be gay they ask me who I'm looking for...the perfect girl, cause she doesn't exist they get all up in my business, bothering me, questioning my tactics and motives...whaddya mean you only drink two days a week, that's pure insanity....they ask me myriad stupid questions to which I can give no reply except a sly shrug of the shoulders. i know what I'm holding out for here people and she's going to hit me like a bolt of lightning on a late february evening. a gust of wind and she'll come blowin in and I won't question it. i won't ask why. i won't lean over to the old woman seated next to me in the el train and wake her from her nap, begging for her attention, "m'am....excuse me m'am, can you pinch me quick...here, in the cheek, so I know I'm not dreaming...."and why are you waiting, they ask me, why, tell us why, we NEED to know....because my young friends, because I believe in...but they aren't listening....they love to hear themselves talk...about themselves....they love to ask questions......why are you single?

because parker posey is taken..

jobe.