You are expecting that someday
you two will be a couple.
For now, he feigns ignorance
of the possibility.
In fact, that ignorance
grows exponentially
with the passing of time.
You express your willingness
to be half of a couple
by dogging his heels,
trailing him everywhere,
smiling at him
every chance you get,
even cruising by his house at night
to see if he's home
and with whom.
You call at odd hours
to make sure he's there
though you remain silent
on your end of the line.
You slip scraps of paper
under his door,
mostly 'Guess who"
in disguised handwriting.
Next step is to shave your head,
wear low cut blouses
and short-short skirts,
and parade before his desk seductively.
Either that or burst into
shaved, low cut, short-short tears.
Either way,
he has you right where he wants you.
*****
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Poetry East and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.
