Through Your Notes

Sunday

Sunday

9.30 p.m.

I search for my poem I put up yesterday. There's a yellow post-it note pasted at the corner of my poem. It says:

You don't repeat
'we're just friends'
a lot of times in your
poem if you don't
like him.

I take down my yesterday's poem. I replace it with the new one.

My note is gone.

I search for my pen and notebook. I write my reply. I tear the paper. I put a thumbtack to hold my note on the board.

I smile at it.

I take down the post-it note. I put it in my bag.

I head home.

'But we are.
He said so.'