to the girl waving at
me from
the passenger seat in
a big black car
or at least i think it’s me
i see your hand and hair and little else
you could be anyone or no one
i have headphones on so i can’t tell
if you’re calling for me or not
i’ve had a long day
and the idea of saying something else to anyone
fills me with dread
and are you shouting, hey! hey!
or my nickname?
there’s a park full of people behind me
but none of them are waving back to you
so it must be me you’re calling for, right?
this is so unusual though
i haven’t had anyone call for me
from a car in a long time
twelve years in a city full of eight million
and i’ve managed to make no friends
except maybe you
whoever the hell you are
leaning over and screaming into the driver’s ear
your goddamned face blocked for posterity
in new york city
we’re surrounded by everyone
still it can be the loneliest place in the world
so maybe i should be glad someone has found me
wave back even if i’m not quite sure or don’t want to
make that connection
but before i do anything
the light changes and you’re gone
the music fills my ears again
the street comes alive with its usual nonsense
dogs barking and kids crying
some chick in leopard printed pants
reading her old man the riot act
and i think thank god
thank the ever-loving gods
that i’m alone with everyone
again.
No comments:
Post a Comment