A lot can be said about me
that I see people I know
on the street
and my first thought
is to stand very slim
behind a lamp post and hope
they don’t see me
which you would never guess
after they do spot me
and the conversation sprouts
like flowers in the air
and I don’t mean silly flowers either
but the gorgeous kind
like zinnias and marigolds
as we ask each other
romantic things
like couldn’t you write for days
about that crow over there
greedy and aloof
at the same time
yet I don’t seem to learn
that it is worth it
for the next time
I am just as keen
to avoid the colour
of engagement
and it probably won’t be
but I wouldn’t mind
if it came up at my funeral
that I had been spotted
trying to hide from life
the people who loved me
eating from small plates
remembering the patchwork of me
wondering at why I seemed
afraid to play.