All of the time I spent leaning
across a table trying to listen in
on conversations that were not
mine wasn’t time wasted, I know
that. But there’s just something
about the thought of being
addressed by someone else
that makes my breath hitch.
I told Charlie that I would take
up smoking if it meant spending
more time with people.
Don’t be an idiot, he said
and grabbed his coat.
I don’t want to be an idiot,
I want to hold a lighter
near someone’s mouth. Move
closer as we agree that it’s too
damn cold out here, knees
chattering. If asked
to go outside and stand next
to a person for ten minutes,
I want to say yes.
Kelsey Carmody Wort lives in New York City and holds an MFA in poetry from Purdue University. She has words in journals, magazines, text messages, tweets, and various discarded diaries. You can follow her on Twitter @kelseyraejepsen.
image: MM Kaufman