You Must Think of Me

When you go down the sidewalks,
grey-ish and cracked,
and the filmy store windows
don't reflect back anyone but yourself;
wind whips your hair,
I'm not there,
and it's felt:
you must think of me.

When you're pouring your coffee,
strong; piping hot,
and you find that there's more than
one cup in the pot as you set out two cups;
it's a mistake,
and you shake
off the crumbs;
you must think of me.

When you're saving your seating
there at the play,
and you count out an extra seat
quite by mistake, and you've taken two programmes;
script lines are felt,
no one else
understands:
you must think of me.

When you're sitting there musing
yourself 'round the globe
and the aging of time has you
living alone, just to frequent this park bench;
foreign or home?
you don't know
which is which:
you must think of me.

When you're juggling grocery bags,
car keys, and lists
and you flick on the light to see
what you have missed on the caller ID;
there the light blinks
and you think. . .
your heart beats:
you must think of me.

When you're facing a closing door,
watching for light
to come on in the windows and
pull up the blinds, for a sign to come in;
When you need to dream,
when you seem
at an end:
you must think of me.