The men on the golf course shout, “Hey—I saw you out here last Friday.”

“Yeah—” I said. “This is my cardio.”

“I bet that’s what you tell your wife.”

“That’s a good one.” I’m not married, but I have learned not to tell the men on the golf course I’m still single.

You see, there are things that you just don’t say

like, I dropped out of high school

or, I don’t have any parents

or, I’m unemployed. There’s shame in that, but only if, you believe it.

I just let them go ahead and think, what they think

that I’m a well-adjusted young man

and I am

so, no need to mess with their mathematical equations

for normalcy. I’m 35, and the women I have known, haven’t been right

or, I haven’t been right for those women.

The one I could’ve married was a Mormon, but I couldn’t believe in that

and I am too much of a rule breaker to fit into any organized religion—

I look like a Mormon, but underneath

I am a raving poet.

I dated a girl from El Salvador who was masculine

I learned Spanish and became friends with her brother

I asked him about determinism or free will and he said, “A man makes his own decisions.”

Smart guy—he pours concrete for a living, and he is wiser than most of the people I met in university.

The last woman is the girl I never went on a date with, but I have always held out hope. I don’t know if we could have a good conversation, but words

are overrated. I have never been around a woman who was so full of mischief and delight.

She is like a cat, that stares at me—wondering…

what my next move will be

Baby, unfortunately, I write poetry.