looks a lot like being lost.
outside: the sun blazed over the streets
and the sidewalks contained the wanderers
as their eyes shifted over sales and tents.
my friend Brian asked to borrow
my guitar for his show because his had gone
to shit and this was a onceinalifetime-type thing—
he even said he would pick me up.
outside the stuidio i waited,
checking my watch and my phone frantically,
hoping to maybe get home in time to grab lunch
but hope dwindled.
i surveyed the street, watching for his beater
of a car: up and down my eyes shifted,
my hands running through my hair in hunger
and frustration. i am too nice, i thought.
check my phone
check
check
check my phone
did he call?
did i miss him?
i don't know what his car looks like
other than shit.
a woman came up to me with smugness in her eye.
are you lost?
i almost quipped back with something like
do i look lost?
but at that point i realized i did.
i stood there waiting, wishing for someone
to come so i would have an idea where i was going.
for anyone: Brian, Jesus, my mother, her, him
anyone.
so i told her no, that I was just waiting
for someone—but in our waiting
aren't we just lost without the other?
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