to my left

when she hops off the bar stool and steps onto the stage,

you keep your head down,

though I know you are listening;

you cringe slightly

at every wrong note.

 .

she is giddy and

on her third drink while you,

stone-faced and handsome,

take another sip of your birch beer.

you leaf through the song book as if deep in thought.

you study it like a bible,

like you are looking for your own song

(but I come here all the time;

I know you don’t sing).

 .

you glance over your shoulder only once.

I can’t tell if you love her too much or

not enough

to watch her make such an adorable fool of herself.

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