By Jordan Marshall-Pinegar
Don’t give it away,
whatever it is,
to the wrong person.
Because when you see it
in their hands
it will look different
and somehow
you’ll be sorry you let them
hold it,
whatever it is:
The way you felt that day on the subway
when the man with his son
counted the seven dollars in his wallet twice,
or your secret fear
of jumping off bridges,
your virginity, or your poem.
And when they’re standing there
with that thing you gave them
unregarded—
because they don’t stop talking about themselves,
like something stupid they did in highschool,
or “Oh yeah hey I forgot to tell you this funny thing that happened
to me—
then you feel like
snatching it
back, and you feel
like you’re going to die.
