No Joy in Butler

The sky was gray and bluish bleak that February day:

All chocolate hearts and greeting cards and freshly trimmed bouquets.

The air was filled with promises of roses and of wine—

Except for those unlucky folks who had no Valentine.

The lonely, dateless multitudes fought back against despair,

Against this day when singles have their singleness laid bare.

But Simon—he awoke, for once, with optimistic glee.

For Simon—he had made a date for coffee with Marie!

They shared a class or club or two; he’d see her in the hall.

He’d text her something funny, and she would reply: “lol.”

“Hungarian at four?” he asked, forgetting all his fear.

And when she told him, “Yes,” he knew that this would be his year.

He wrote a little Valentine, no nicer than the rest:

Enclosed a private joke or two, but dressed it all in jest.

They met up on the corner, and she showed up just in time.

Their eyes met for a moment when his heart turned on a dime.

There she was with Austin, Simon’s old Carman 5 friend,

There they were—all hand-in-hand—but what did that portend?

Three awkward cups of coffee later, Simon had no doubt

(And Facebook would confirm his guess) that they were going out.

And though his face betrayed no hurt—he smiled all the same—

And though he joked with other folks that it was all a game,

Though Simon said, when Austin asked, he “didn’t mind a bit,”

That day, it wasn’t hard to see that Simon felt like shit.

If nice guys finish last, he thought with a reluctant sigh,

Then I had better do my best to be a less-nice guy.

Wondering whether it had been a lack of wit or looks,

Simon spent his Valentine’s Day indoors, reading books.

Oh, somewhere out there in the night, someone’s in embrace:

Chocolates, roses, candlelight, and getting past third base.

And somewhere there are hugs and snugs, and somewhere “love”—no doubt.

But there is no joy in Butler—for Simon has struck out.

The author is Columbia College sophomore.