exit 31 in poetry

the pretty brunette who works at the toll booth sometimes
she thinks that I’m flirting with her
she thinks so, I know it
there’s an amused but dismissive laugh
when I say “thank you, have a good night”
or “thank you, happy new year”
or “thank you, stay warm, huh?”

I’m not

which isn’t to say that I wouldn’t
she is rather beautiful and
I am rather lonely these days
but that’s not what I’m doing
I’m just being polite

I engage the same way with
any of the people working the toll booths
the men, the older women, the young rookies, all of them
they have a thankless job where
most people treat them like money-robots
not saying anything or at best
barking out the most perfunctory exchanges
which is something I’m not really about
I think we should all do our best to
acknowledge our shared humanity
at every possible moment
break down the idea of treating
each other as parts of the systems of function
as though doing our best to do this
might help everything work more humanely

but the pretty brunette who works at the toll booth sometimes
reacts as if this is not what I’m doing
because this is our society, after all
there’s a whole lot of assholes out there throughout her life
who’ve only valued her for her physical beauty
so in her mind that’s the only reason
someone might be above and beyond the call of duty
nice to her
in her weird lonely job

part of me wants to explain to her
no, I try to be like this to everyone
I try to be warm and acknowledging wherever I go
I try to bust through the perfunctory interaction
for a connection with everyone
your looks are not the motivating factor
but she’d probably mistake it all for
some triple-reverse psychology kind of flirting
some high-end booksy-wooksy bullshit flirting
and anyway
there’s hardly time in the taking of a ticket
or the handing off of sixty-five cents
to explain all of that, of course

so the pretty brunette who works at the toll booth sometimes
assumes that I’m trying to flirt with her
while I’m just trying to let all of them know that
I know that they’re all human even though
they’re working in the toll booth in
cold impersonal inconvenient Adirondack winter nights
and she’ll keep on assuming it
for forever

leaving me to write a poem about it
ruminating on the boxes we’re all stuck in
by societal norms and convenience
while also admitting that
yes, yes of course
I would flirt with her in some very different context
because she’s quite beautiful
but those separate truths do not
cancel each other out
they are both true
it’s just a matter of having the time
to explain yourself