I Sit Across From Her
I sit across from her
by Stephen Martin II
with the same old story on my tongue.
I know I must say something,
but I can't say this.
I told her this story at least twice.
I can't tell it again.
So I ask where she went to school.
And how she knows our mutual friend?
And where does she work?
And what is she going to school for?
And I wait for a question in return.
Then my attempt to avoid it fails.
In the silence that follows my questions,
I finish my beer and begin
'did I ever tell you about the time...'
because I don't want to stop looking into her eyes.