The silence stifles,
A stuffy blanket overhead,
And rather than indulge,
In this painful operation
Of a conversation
I'd rather, like,
Stall.  "Like,"
 
"So," I say, attempting
To make conversation.
"How have you been?"
It is as meaningless
As talking about the weather,
And as obligatory
As the answer, "Fine."
 
"And you?" he asks.
"Oh, I'm good."
"That's good."
I want to get away,
Exchanged pleasantries,
A French manicure,
Dragged down a chalkboard.
 
"Um, well, I've got to go."
It is my excuse,
I am uncomfortable,
A toddler in heels.
"See you around, then."
"Yeah," I am already
Walking away.
 
Out of sight, round the corner,
Exhale, free from
The awkward encounter,
Realizing you can only
Talk so long,
Without saying anything.
Um, well, yeah.