The Date (Poem)

I’m not excited about your arrival.

I’m not.

(The world is poised in anticipation,

Breath held, one hand slightly extended with a tremor.)

I don’t care how I look.

I don’t.

(The trees have rearranged their leaves multiple times,

Dropping the yellow, one leg swinging forward to showcase ripped jeans .)

I don’t wonder about my voice.

I don’t.

(The birds exchange songs back and forth,

Deciding on a warble, one hello deepens in tone.)

This is just a date. I’m not bothered at all.

(Please let her like me like I like her.)