a poem

Missed Connections

I liked your long post about no one missing you and would like to talk to you, yes I'm far away,

yes this is a little weird, but you seem a “kindred spirit”.

Every week I check this damn thing

to see if anyone in this city of millions

has missed me. What gives?

I ride the train no less than twice a day,

five or more days a week.

I'm pressed against some of you

in the commute.

Haven't any of you women missed me?

I go to the park.

I shop at places.

I walk around.

wear shoes.

I have ear phones.

I drink stuff.

Start missing me already, goddamnit.

I am very easy to miss.

Monday:

Go to work after the weekend.

Try not to sweat in the sweltering

humidity of the subway.

No one misses a sweater.

Listen to music to drown

out the reality of being stuck

in the train with a million strangers;

avoid eye contact at all cost.

Bullshit about the weekend with the coworkers.

Get caught up on Craigs List.

Tuesday:

Go to work.

Eat at one of same four places around work.

Walk around a little during lunch,

hoping to bump into someone new.

Trick my way home early.

Contact friends to make plans for the weekend.

Check Craigs List.

Wednesday:

Go to work.

Spend most of lunch break wandering around trying

to find someplace new to eat.

Realize nothing of interest has been built since I checked last week.

End up eating at one of four usual places.

Try taking a different route home.

This time try to make eye contact with as many strangers

as I can.

Thursday:

Go to work.

Lunch hour I run errands,

return library material,

get money from the bank,

and call up friends to reconfirm plans.

In stores I walk up and down each aisle

to make doubly sure everyone has had a chance to miss me.

Get home and get frustrated.

Friday:

Go to work.

Spend all day waiting for work to end.

Take smoking break.

Look for smokers to miss.

Get out of work.

Forget all about Craigs List.

Find friends.

See more strangers in one night

than rest of week combined.

Stumble home at ungodly hour.

Saturday:

Wake up at some point.

Roll over to the park.

Maybe check out a museum.

Try to look deep and lost in thought.

Feel envious of all the people missing others right before my eyes.

Try to forget or become crushed by laziness or the ennui of it all.

Look up ennui in dictionary.

Sunday: Fuck it. I'm sleeping in. I'm doing laundry. I'm ordering take-out. I'm not leaving the

damn house. You've had your chances all week. I'm taking a me day. I'm reading a book. And by

reading, I mean surfing the internet; whereas by book, I mean porn. Knock myself out with the

usual roofie-colada, wine + sleeping pill, so I can wake up in the morning and pack myself into

an overcrowded train to get to work and check Craigs List.

Fucking miss me already. I can't do this forever.