I’m at the end of my ambivertness.
Pushing June dawn, the four of us stand
in the heart of a chilling downtown Lexington,
three guys–churchmates–and a girl
we all just met through the course if the night,
introduced by a mutual friend already gone home
not likely thinking we still had hours in us.
Across three, maybe four bars and
at the bottom of even more liquors
to match the variety of topics conversation touches:
love languages, niche attractions, commitmentphobia,
and what other adventures we might look to go on
as we all exchange numbers for a group text.
We talk about introversion and extroversion.
She labels me an ambivert, which is good
because I pay attention and take in details.
She mentions being drawn in by intelligent conversation
for the third time of the night;
possibly sapiosexual, but who’s taking notes?
Then bro busts out
with an entire Martin Luther King speech
recited flawlessly from memory!
Don’t allow anybody to make you are nobody.*
I instinctually nod along
as I watch her devour every word like
how in the world am I supposed to shine against that?
I look away, up to the stars
but you can’t see those through city lights.
Or clouds.
The first raindrops are a blessing–
the world forcing us to move
and prompting operational discussion,
where is everybody parked?
Quiet in the back, I listen
I observe.
Be a bush if you can’t be a tree…*
The extroverts are lost in conversation
angling off one way.
Her car is in the opposite direction.
The ambivert falls into step with her
for, outside of desire and any possibility or loss,
nobody should ever be out alone at night.
If you can’t fly, run.
If you can’t run, walk.*
It’s a drizzle that will still be felt
on our clothes in the morning
when we finally reach her car.
We talk without the taint of expectation
and everybody texts when they are home safe
before much needed sleep and whatever tomorrow brings.
*italics are excerpts taken from Martin Luther King Jr.’s “What is Your Life’s Blueprint?” speech.
