A lady with long legs walked right
by me, still on her phone,
something, something about somebody named
and before this I had turned to
a page I was not yet on, in a book
you had lent me and! one of your hairs
was there, and I reached to touch it but
the wind blew it away. No loss, I thought.
I will see you again.
But then, I realized, I remembered
you bought this book used, and handed
it to me never opening it yourself,
and that was a stranger’s
hair I missed.
I thought of drawing on my leg, on
my knee, but a man on a bike
took my attention from body art.
He appeared to be talking to himself
only a friend was bluetoothed into
his ear instead.
I’ve only seen one tattoo today;
a string of stars on a tan foot of
a girl my age. 25. She told me as much.