Three Notes From Three Strangers

poetry shouldn't be taken too seriously. that said, here's some poetry.

Three Notes From Three Strangers
Over at Terminal 5 tonight, the band Mars Volta is playing. A friend is there. She beams up at the stage from below. Another friend has just gotten off work, has stumbled into her apartment. She is tired, never wants to leave home again. Another is already at home, has been all day. Is staring into the mirror and running a bath.

They call it an idiom, a term or phrase whose meaning cannot be deduced from literal definitions. Whichever man or woman said this one knew something about something. “The grass is always greener,” s/he said.

It's night.
The world is turned from the light and I'm taking my pants off.
I recently got three notes from three strangers.
They said that they’d like my pants- like to put them aside.
Why, I thought, when they're not their size?

The phone is ringing. An ex-boyfriend. A friend. I left him.
We make plans. To meet. For coffee.
“I love you,” he says, before goodbye.
I love him, I think.
I don’t reply.

The him is an other, a boy, a man-
an unusual creature I can’t get a handle on.
But still I try. And want. And wait. And don't know why.

I got three notes from three strangers.