Peeking from the corner of my eye, I catch
her face. Two girls, sitting in front of me,
twittering with excitement, pop and point
“There she is!” From the movie screen she has
somehow found her way into our shaky subway
I pretend to be reading. I’ll be noticed if I’m
too cool not to notice. But it’s wrong, this
feels contrived. She can tell, I know; so let’s
really swim into this prose. Let’s get tangled.
Nine stops later, the protagonist has found
his dad, but the sister is dead, and the screen
princess is gone. I’ve missed a glare at her butt,
this time five real feet away. The tiny tube at home
suffices generally, but today I’ll feel cheated.