I wrote my
heart on a scrap of paper,
And put it in my pocket next to my money clip.
If somebody wants to read it,
They’ll have to steal it,
Like a gypsy woman tried to,
On the Metro near the Spanish Steps—
So desperate was she for real emotion.
I’ve noticed that word itself ‘love’
Wears away the point of a pencil
In a peculiar, lopsided way.
Everything scribbled after it
Is slanted, tilted, askew,
In some distorted, yet satisfying way.
If now you think I love you,
You’ve also lifted my cash.
Ron Yazinski is a retired high school English teacher who
lives in Northeastern Pennsylvania. His poems have or will soon
appear in Strong Verse and Bijou.