Waiting - April 17th

Reel

I saved all the tickets
from every movie we saw. Collected
them in a tin, like an urn for memories
burning away. The way your feet tapped
the chair in front of  you told more stories
than the films. Like when you
had to pee. The way you crossed your legs
when you were bored. Your feet restless
over annoying theater-goers. Your feet pushed
against mine at anything scary or tender.
The two things that could drive your feet to mine.

The encrusted floor couldn't keep
you from walking away. The ushers
clean up your footprints before I could
follow anyway. I'm left with a stub
to a movie I didn't even know I was watching.
Stuck with the credits, seeing your name
appear in giant letters, scroll up and blip away.

— — —

To The Sad Cal Arts Student I Talked To
On The Chairs Outside of Jamba Juice
While On Break at Work

When you looked up and smiled
in my direction, you probably thought
we locked eyes, but I only saw the piercing
in your septum. The way it moved
as you sniffed a "Hi."
My own nose felt heavier with a piercing
thought of all the ways I am
an uneventful, unlived person, on the bench,
outside of Jamba Juice, writing to myself.

The steel half-ring curling back into my nose,
all the boring things,
not a single pierced hole on my body.

Leave them alone, it was a simple Hi,
Said the septum to my head.
Fuck off, said my heart to the septum.
Hi, said a boring guy on a bench to a stranger.
What are you working on? I said to the writer
who noticed me.

Samantha with the septum ring,
talking across a table with someone
who only looks at your nose. Who talks back
at the piercing, not the person, noticing
how similar it is to the ones that labeled us
dud humans and ditched. Noses sniff in the cold,

the septum raises and lowers.

To Sammie's septum ring: thank you
for letting me show the piercing
that "boring" changes when given
second chances. To Sammy: forgive me
for using your nose. To Kyle
from Sam: sorry we both wished
we were talking to different people.
you are not a drab person,  no one
on these benches writing alone is.

we each wanted a hand
to help us up, not pull
the bench out from underneath.