Blame it on Ogden Nash
To absent toyboys
When fever is high and throat is dry
And lips are cracked in pain,
As I search for calm, a momentary balm
And look for solace in vain,
No text messages or offies, no mails,
There's a dearth, scarcity, a famine
Of solicitous and caring males,
Not a one sent a single line.
My 'flu and my ague, all a result
Of a supposed secondary infection,
Are made much worse by the insult
Of such utter and total rejection.
Nobody wrote or said 'hi',
No 'what's up', how's life', 'how be thou'
You all ignore me, and I sigh.
How starved am I of online love.