2540 N. 55th St.

You’re the big old kid in the neighborhood,
don’t know my name, but I wish you would.
Do you want to go, maybe to a show,
we could take your car and the radio,
we could meet some girls,
like we did that time,
get drunk at rosehill on your grandpa’s wine;
would you like my face if you saw me again?
If we met today would we still be friends?

We can stay up late,
take out the car,
push it away,
roll down the street,
you think she’ll see?

We don’t talk that much,
not anymore;
three thousand miles can be such a bore.
Do you think of me,
sometimes at night?
Do you look at the phone and then walk on by?
Take a photograph,
a frozen picture of a still-life scene and the two of us.
I still think of you every once in a while,
I sit and stare with a stupid smile.