“I see her on the bus stop,
But I am not
Great at making friends,
“You are cute,”
I tell her and
The little one in her arms
As well.
She is not pleased,
And her baby starts bawling
So I rummage
Thorough my mind, looking
For a better synonym
But it is a mess
Up there, and the silence
That hangs in the
Stale, summer air,
Makes things worse.
“Thank you, I guess,”
She says, and I know
In that moment that
“Polite”, is what she is
Or maybe she is more
And I need a Thesaurus
If I want to start
Conversations with shallow compliments.”