Sam Alvarez
I’ll turn the corner & see you before you see me
& before we make eye contact I’ll fake yawn & squint
at the horizon & raise a hand over my eyes to stifle
the light falling through the fire escapes
& I’ll pretend to respond to a text & laugh out loud
at a blank screen just in case you’re looking
but you won’t be you’ll be a block away so I’ll crack
my knuckles & whistle a few notes & pretend some more
that I haven’t noticed you & then I’ll suddenly notice
the clouds hanging in a gutter for a moment
until a cyclist shatters it & then I’ll make eye contact
with a baby through polished glass & I’ll glimpse
their little shoes & wonder why their parents even bother
putting them on if the shoes are too small
to stand in & I’ll notice in the corner of my eye
you’re only a few steps away so I’ll breathe deep
& actually yawn & decide to say something to you &
I’ll turn my body & raise my eyes to your face
& they’ll pass over your familiar nose & cheeks
& lips & frown & furrowed brow & I’ll realize
your eyes are steely & forwards & empty & suddenly
you’ll be past me & I’ll be standing with my hand
in the air & the gutter will only be full of ripples
& the baby’s feet will never touch the ground.
Sam Alvarez is a saxophonist and writer born in Austin, Texas who’s just trying to make nice things.
