And now for something a little more frivolous:

I’m going to write this poem with all these great lines I can’t use

Those ones I scribble down on napkins and lose in the ladies room, only to remember the next time I’m in that restaurant, which gives me the futile urge to rummage through the trash,

Knowing it’s already gone

Dedicated to Nate (whom I’ve only met once)

Those lines we think are crap

And he can add a few

If he wants

I’m gonna write this poem

Every time I want to hold you
You smile

{The poet scratches at the paper with her pen}

Just as soon as I locate my napkin stash, and my receipt, stash, and my “paper-I-already-turned-in-so-I-can-use-the-back-for-something-else” stash, and my six different journals.

Of course, then, I’ll have to see if I can read what I’ve scribbled out…