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,
Undoubtedly,
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.