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
to watch her make such an adorable fool of herself.