Читать книгу Dangerous Goods - Sean Hill - Страница 17

POSTCARD TO MY THIRD CRUSH TODAY

I’ve been on the move; the bottoms

of my shoes have rested on forty-eight states,

six Canadian Provinces, seven countries,

three continents, and the crush is constant.

You look like someone’s daughter;

I find that so attractive. I once

thought this, but now it’s someone’s

mother or aunt more often than not

or cousin or uncle or brother or son

on occasion. The crush is everywhere,

or maybe it’s me, my luck, like always

seeing the corner crooners by the storefront

of The Heart, loitering—singing for quarters

and grins. Most days I can count on the first

and second crush, and sometimes there’s a fifth

or sixth. They’re as likely not to notice me

as to smile in my eyes. Either way my heart

skips like those flat stones that kiss the skin

of the pond and fly off again before sinking.

Today it is you in that polka dot dress I need

to thank for getting me to three. The Heart’s

a big chain; there’s one everywhere you go,

and they rarely have those No Loitering signs.

You’re more likely to see No Solicitations.

I’ll leave this postcard here for you to find.