the man that follows me home
is not good at following, I see
him every step of the way.
we make eye contact.
I drop my umbrella and he picks
it up, calls me by name.
says excuse me, but I believe
this is yours.
he waits for me to get off the train
first, then he steps into the shadows
across the street
as if he can't be seen.
I stop for ice cream, trying
to get him off my tail, but he
comes in too. he asks me if
my cone of pistachio is any good.
I nod yes. so he orders the same
thing. again I leave, he waits,
then follows me, staying a half
a block behind. I can hear
his shoes click against
the pavement. when I go up the steps
and turn the key to my door, I look
behind me. there he is.
he stands at the end of the sidewalk.
he tips his hat as I tell him
goodnight. see you tomorrow?
I ask him. maybe he says. maybe.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment