Waking up, thinking of her,
Is a silly thing for me to do.
She’s only words in a box;
Chained to a screen, unopened.
A picture – that could or
Could not be her (though I
Suspect her photo, the woman
With the no-nonsense Tubman
Stare, is indeed her) –
Adorns her profile. I would
Say something more, but I
Know this tiny blue bird
Is not a matchmaker.
Besides, I don’t think she
Notices me, not even
When I mention her.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen