Wednesday, April 22, 2015

poem of the day 04.22.15

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


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