Stranger
Seeing you holding the door for her
I hardly knew you.
I barely recognized your face
behind its new expressions.
I had to stop and turn
to see you close the open door,
then I stood there in the street
as past tense passed me by.
While you were standing there
so involved somehow,
you managed not to see
the face I wore was not the same.
You didn't hear the story I was telling
about Paris,
you didn't see the scar I got
or the shoes I wore
or the shirt I bought,
you just missed me.
I saw you there
but I don't know you now.
Perhaps all we ever were
was strangers.
All the same
I hope someday you'll see me
on a street corner on Park Avenue
as my lover feeds me pizza,
dog leash tangled around our ankles,
laughing so hard we don't notice you
standing there alone.
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