from The Greek Anthology, Book XVII
Three women talk about their men, boyfriends,
crushes. Each looks beautiful.
One wears a ponytail and the tattoo of a star
on her wrist; another has shower-wet hair
scented with hyacinth, the third one sews
(surely Clotho) without a glance at her handiwork.
They take no notice of me at a nearby café table,
invisible as a cab driver - my hair thinning.
Clotho says of one beau: "I'm really not gone
on him. He's too nice." Said in earnest,
no irony intended. The others nod, don't laugh.
I wish I had been privy to this conversation
thirty years ago. I, who was always fallen over myself
being nice to women I most longed for,
hardly ever ended up with. If only I'd known.

- Gregory of Corkus