I waited for you
unblinkingly
by the side
of the road.
Spring, summer,
autumn, winter.
On a snowy afternoon,
you sent me
a stranger instead
with suffering tires
and eyes that
could shatter glass.
I dug in her trunk
for an elusive jack,
ruining my best suit,
the one I’d put on
for a different
occasion.
When she
drove happily off,
I looked up
and saw your face
smiling wryly
behind
thin clouds.
Michael James Fitzgerald
