There he strides with artificial confidence,
But trying so frantically to fit in,
Thus, he switches to his polite mode,
He does this in both the bright and the dark,
Also, both in the warm and cold,
Because truth is, he desires not to be alone,
“Happily, single” his conduct seems to suggest,
But his continuous anxious bouncy leg,
Screams out confirmation, that he yearns for company,
This man has held doors open far too many times,
Time for him to walk through a few now,
So, that he can wear a truthful smile,
So, as he approaches me, I mirror his politeness,
Though unfortunate truth is realised to me,
He is in need to wet his parched desert dry lips,
Thus, I open a door gaping wide to him, so he can quench,
He does so, with a vote of potent thanks to me,
As I give him wine, instead of water, so he can start to really enjoy.