My hair is clung with sweat to my head
I’m wearing the same dress he last saw me in
And a sick mask like a hospital patient
Or a Chinese citizen
Where the smog is so thick
It’s sometimes hard to see
And all he can say is
“What’s that necklace you’re wearing?”
“It’s the evil eye,” I croak. “I think someone put a curse on me.”
“Oh. Its pretty. Hey, you want me to read you a story?”
This is the kind of man, I think, who notices but then, is careful not to notice.
I like him.