I Saw U

Fifteen years ago a woman
wrote me an I Saw U.
No question it was for me.
She named me and the neighborhood
I lived in, which I had mentioned
in the few minutes we spoke
at the coffee shop where she worked.
She mentioned the yawn I made
just before I introduced myself. Very clear.
Her overture was not unwelcome.
The real trouble was, I guess,
that the girl I had just duped
into letting me into
her life
was the one who saw the ad first.
She shrieked. Why she was reading
the I-Saw-Us in the first place
I don't know, and it seems
she felt very strongly
that particular question
was of much less consequence
than how my name and address
ended up in a wanted ad.
In all the years I've been
trying to understand women
I've never grown comfortable
with the fact that for a woman
looking at the I-Saw-Us
is as natural as dogs humping,
while for a man
it's a sure sign
of desperation and a depraved mind.
The saddest thing, I think,
as I sit at the bar staring into my beer
so as no to appear lonely or desperate,
is that after a short time
I was alone again
and I returned to her, the I-Saw-U writer,
hoping I would see welcome in her eyes
when I asked for coffee.
The saddest things, I think, will always
be dashed hopes.

(2004)