Writing about you is cheap and easy:
Fast-food poetry.

I can queue you up in ink
Wherever a pen is given to me
With little more prompting
Than that soft black hair,
Those unhappy eyes.

You're new old shoes,
Worn thin around the edges
And where the world weighs the most,
But I reach for you for every long journey,
For every quick trip.
I wear you in line
At the McDonald's in the airport.

I don't order anything,
But I pour you onto napkins
And let you flutter away-
Nothing new.

'Q