I wish I had a lover with a plan
for something new we’d do with this weekend.
I wouldn’t mind attention from a man,
and company I’d welcome in a friend.
But I don’t long for anyone I’ve had
and I don’t yearn for anyone I’ve met.
The truth is, I’m not hurt and I’m not sad.
These may be clues that I’m not ready yet.

I guess I’ll rest and work around my home,
inhabiting this space where I belong.
I’ll dwell within the meter of a poem,
and patronize the bars of weekend song.
There’s wisdom in the rhythm of my verse,
suggesting life’s not bad. It could be worse.