FOR M

DAVID PORTER

---

​I am on a subway on a rainy October evening
(an uptown 2, if you must know),
drenched to my undershirt
(but not my socks, thankfully),
riding home to cook dinner
(and put on dry clothes),
and I am thinking of you
(as I often do)
and how maybe this poem
(and perhaps a few others),
should it somehow find its way to you
(a shard of glass you find one morning
beneath your refrigerator door,
dredged through dog hair and dust),
will prove to you I kept my word
(at least some part of it),
and that you might not mind
(perhaps might even welcome)
keeping this tattered, sun-bleached semaphore somewhere
(in parenthesis is fine).