She showed up, but didn’t stay,
perhaps because I chose not
to go at all.
What good is it for her to rub my nose in it,
when I don’t’ bring my nose to where it is,
and do not dare to look at her in all her glory,
and to pine over what I can never get.
I already knew what she would look like,
her outfit sending me into a fit of wanting
I might not easily survive,
her dark gaze looking in every direction
except mine
(or on a slant only to see if I was looking
so she could pretend to pay
her attention on someone else),
her stage, not mine,
her world full of booby traps
for the unwary like me,
and here I may have disappointed her again,
ruining that brief moment of revenge
by my absence,
while I stew in my own sad broth at home,
my imagination doing all
she might have expected
and knowing she would be pleased
if she could see me now.
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