Stranger

Seeing you holding the door for her I hardly knew you. I barely recognized your face behind its new expressions. I had to stop and turn to see you close the open door, then I stood there in the street as past tense passed me by. While you were standing there so involved somehow, you managed not to see the face I wore was not the same. You didn't hear the story I was telling about Paris, you didn't see the scar I got or the shoes I wore or the shirt I bought, you just missed me. I saw you there but I don't know you now. Perhaps all we ever were was strangers. All the same I hope someday you'll see me on a street corner on Park Avenue as my lover feeds me pizza, dog leash tangled around our ankles, laughing so hard we don't notice you standing there alone.