Yes, hon, hold my macchiato
and we can take a selfie.
Going on thirty-one, and so much
I never knew, secrets the universe
kept hidden just out of view:
like how a real man could want
to walk the streets of your hometown
holding tightly onto your hand;
the way the old All-American Rejects
song sounds to you on the radio now,
ringing shame against your eardrums,
nothing reminiscent of the person
sitting beside you in the coffee shop
holding your steaming mug.
Yes, hon, let’s take a selfie.
Let’s pin up this moment
with a grin, save it for a day
when we might forget
what it feels like to be held,
by hand and by heart,
forever in a photo full of secrets
we’ll whisper to each other in the dark.