you forgot your pen on the subway bench.
You dropped it on the Queens bound R train
between Jay and Court,
and it slid behind my back.
I don’t really know how you missed it fall,
but maybe you didn't,
and your smile on the platform
was a smile of more than just courtesy.
Part of me wanted to mention this.
But when I reached down to grasp your ink,
I couldn’t feel a thing.
My heart was beating too quickly.
Then you got up,
and left me at Whitehall.
Now I have the cheap blue tube
sitting on my desk.
It’ll probably never write again,
but at least I know that maybe someday
you’ll come looking for it.