Limericks For Lost Online Dates

by Jen Winston

His profile was love at first sight
We both liked The Onion—–my knight!
But I dropped my phone
And then he was gone
And so was my chance to swipe right

* * *

Who cares if I really hate sports
And for work, he writes “baseball reports”?
It’s only one date
I mean, this could be fate!
Nope, nevermind, he’s the worst

* * *

This is a bad conversation
“When will Seinfeld end syndication?”
I don’t know the answer
But know you are a cancer
And I much prefer masturbation

* * *

His profile says he loves meat
But I prefer veggies, no cheese
So on our first date
I choose the place
A bar, so he can’t see me eat

* * *

I wanted a boy who moved slower
But he sent me a pic of his boner
So now we’ve never met
Never will, and yet
I can still confirm: he’s a grower

* * *

As proof I didn’t think we’d have sex,
My FitBit was clipped near my chest
But my date was Don Juan
And when we were done
I hit 23,000 steps

* * *

Tinder might seem like it’s fate
But the dates are all a disgrace
Two drinks, talk crap
When you’re done, check the app
See the new head that’s grown in his place

* * *

His arms were covered in ink
And he really liked Ariel Pink
But a freak in the streets
Is a freak in the sheets
So our two dates were worth it, I think

* * *

I’d downed too much pre-date liquor
And choosing my clothes was the kicker
Accidentally put on
The same shirt I’d worn
In my Tinder profile picture

* * *

When I said I was feminist, he asked
Would I still be if he paid for my glass?
I said, “Let’s find out!”
He put on a pout
And said, “Actually, I don’t have cash.”

* * *

I’ve never been attracted to money
I like artists and guys who are punny
But Tinder bohemians
Are all broke comedians
They’re so many things—– just not “funny”

* * *

I’d been in New York for two weeks
And wanted to date someone chic
I swiped right on a mime
But I was quick to find
There’s a reason that most mimes don’t speak

* * *

His bio said, “Whatever will be”
Generic, I thought, but still sweet
He seemed like a catch
But we weren’t a match
Que sera, sera, indeed

* * *

He had a good beard and was tallish
Shared Interest: David Foster Wallace
It was fun, didn’t last
And now it’s the past
A footnote, if that’s what you call it

Jen Winston is a writer living and attempting to date in Brooklyn.

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