The wrong bus,
not sitting by the window.
leaving the coffee shop
not stopping at the proper streetlight
and leaving glances in the empty air.

Driven indoors by the cold
in the wrong city,
the empty theater,
the down elevator,
instead of up to elation.

The quiet night
not running out of milk quite soon enough,
staring into the future instead of walking into it,
the wrong seat,
not by the window.

Coffee not tea,
chips, forgetting the vinegar packets,
ducking to search under the seat
as fate strolls by so easily.

Wrong-love missing-love gone-love,
loving face skimming out of view,
missing love into the longer cold night.

02/17/2007

Posted on 02/17/2007
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers