The Physicist

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She was telling me — oh, the immunologist won’t date me because I have bad genes.

what? I said, how could he judge you like that? (though, I secretly admired his biological elitism)

but she’s moved on to the physicist, the lonely physicist, who frequents the counter with his papers

and theories. it’s his solitude she loves and craves, the fullness of it, how it completely shuts

out others. 

he’s not immune to a look, and so it goes, and she’s a bit curious about it after all,

what is inside those pages of books that makes him ignore the world, ignore the touch of a girl?

 

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