New York Poem
Possessed by a foul mood last Sunday,
I accompanied you to the soccer game.
The one you waited outside
shivering for hours
to covert the free tickets.
I begrudgingly walked the three long
uphill blocks at your side,
complaints queuing on my tongue,
tripping over one another to be voiced.
And you looked to me
And smiled that sweet smile
of a somber child and said
your heart hurt when I was sad.
I wanted to pluck each of those
tender words from the air,
to lock them in a velvet lined box
where nothing horrible would
ever touch them.
And so we went to the game.
I stood for three and a half hours
in a blistering wind.
Frozen hands jammed in my pockets.
Frozen toes curled in my boots.
I even cheered when your team won
because there is nothing you
could ask for that I would not give you
and that includes
abandoning my temper I wanted
to cling to so stubbornly.
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