I went shopping yesterday.
Not for a boy; just window shopping
for real things that cost real money.
In the store,
My eye rested upon a brown leather cuff,
embroidered with three black stars in a row.
I think it was one that I imagined giving to you once.
Not act two; act two bothers you a little.
Somewhere in the first act,
in the sequence where we have established a close friendship.
I snapped it on to you, saying something about you and bracelets.
It looked right there,
fastened on your skinny,
pretty little wrist.
I apologize.
And here comes the "But now.."
Where a narrator cries about the contrast between life and as you like it.
I worry a little that you've made me a joke
to prove what a great, reliable boy you are to her.
Because I walk with my head down
and am pretty quiet sometimes.
Maybe you think I seek attention.
Maybe I am a little odd.
Perhaps I'll change someday.
But as for the little girl you don't recognize
as the girl from that show one time
I don't owe anything.
I'm not sorry for that.
