I just couldn’t find anybody I wanted enough
to make it worthwhile to patronize coffee shops then.
Or maybe it’s really the fact I was carrying stuff
from ruptured old unions I’d never subscribe to again.
But somehow I got to be ancient and living alone.
The fear I’d turn into a misanthrope didn’t come true.
It seems that I’m best when away from companionship’s drone.
I might have been earlier single if only I knew.
And yes, I get jealous when watching or reading romance.
On special occasions and holidays I feel a lack.
But those are too seldom to argue for taking a chance;
I hunker until independence comes barreling back.
On balance, and knowing my personal proclivity,
I’ll follow my counsel and serve as my own company.