“Cool”, he said,
But was it really?
He rarely said anything.
Apart from monosyllabic statements
Piercing the silence in their singularity.
Imagining him piecing together a sentence,
A frenetic vocal fantasy
Poetic words slipping from mouth,
Formed, chosen, lavished with insight.
Not a nod, a grunt, a wink,
But a vast inflective range,
Emotional and flowery.
Instead of gauging all by one solitary word,
That would be “cool” indeed.