Now I think I’ll create
some imagined boyfriends

If I hear from him once
when he’s stood me up thrice

I’ll forget that lapse and instead
start looking at bouquets. My heart
will pound if his wife’s
not around. I will reminisce
those mornings afternoons
nights in a downtown
hotel, madly phoning

the concierge for cabs at 2 am, the driver
barking staccato French to some caller
in hard rain, obviously wound
in his own menage. I will not
think of the one who found me

again after his other had done –
found me and drunk, kissed me
once again at 2, that hour
of opposites and untruths, nor the one
who paused at each pinnacle
either by his words or a guess --
then vanished, wide air and a bird
picking around at some split
flower seeds. Empty.
By my front steps.

Rosemarie Koch

If you have any comments on this poem, Rosemarie Koch would be pleased to hear from you.