I read the poem I wrote about you on the radio yesterday.
I wonder if the waves hit you, wherever you were.
If somewhere under your skin you felt my words
About you.
I'm sure you didn't hear them.
I'd have heard if you had.
Or maybe you did,
And you listened with disgust
Or with that feeling when your heart sinks but it's with fearful hope.
I don't know what you'd think if you heard my voice on the radio,
Saying I cried the night you kissed me.
Maybe you'd be ashamed,
Or maybe you'd call me a goon, like you do when you don't know what to say.
Amanda used to call me silly,
Or kiddo,
The same way-
To make it clear (to herself) that I was not threateningly in love with her
And that she was not perilously fascinated with me.
I really honestly have no idea what you'd do
If you heard
But I think I'd know about it, whatever it was.
I think you didn't hear.
Maybe a friend of yours did,
Maybe one that thought for a moment on the description
And was startled to think of you,
And then dismissed it as ridiculous.
Maybe nobody heard it, who knew you.
But I know people heard it.
And they heard how I loved you that moment when I first truly met you,
And they heard how it broke me to see you walk away
Even though back then you were promising to come back.
They heard what I think you want to forget happened.
And that's why
I read the poem I wrote about you on the radio yesterday.