there is no way you weren’t cool
you had to be;
it would have been
impossible
for you to have been
on that corner
the northwest corner of
50th and 17th Ave NE
at that time
(a late afternoon drive)
in that jersey
(with 24 on the back)
in that color
(the prettiest of navy blues)
and not have been
a woman of my dreams
or of a recurring one
at the very least
it is crazy
to only me, i s’pose
the details i remember:
driving west in my mom’s beige accord
the cool in the way the buttons splayed
a slight wind blowing to and fro
as my life goes on
i’ve played detective
knowing full well
that my mind’s been tamperin’
the evidence, the evidence
was this during college
or after?
were we heading west
or heading east?
(or south or north)
were you really
there
or a machination
to give that jersey
more mystic dust?
i can see your face
just not that well—
you see you see you see you see
over the years i’ve
swiped and swiped and swiped
people i know
people i’ve seen
do the faces fit
the body’s image
maybe they do (though I know they don’t)—
it’s just that deciding
is a place to start
something to go from
something to build off
maybe i’ll die a romantic’s death
waiting on that corner
for the rest of my life
waiting…
waiting…
waiting…
waiting…
waiting for the woman
in the Griffey jersey