Prompt: Write a plus poem

When I Tell People I’m Still Single

Jaws unhinge,
foreheads crinkle,
eyes commence
the full body scan
she seems nice
looks healthy
speaks well
as if these things
should add up
to a husband, boyfriend,
or custody arrangements
at the very least.
So they try higher-order
math, search their minds
for that x-factor to solve
the mystery of me—
the criminal or crazy
in my genes, hidden behind
the gleam of my 32 good
teeth. The why must equal
the exponential growth
of some flaw, compounded
by time and bitterness,
like having standards
out of proportion with reality
or the vector of unavailable
and ne’er do well men that surely
have intersected my heart,
compressed its’ openness
to the smallest natural number.
I am an anomaly:
educated,
pretty,
hard-working,
pleasant,
single—still.
The simple answer is:
I have no clue and I’ve stopped
trying to figure it out.

~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013