Love Poem

by Curtis Dunlap

sometimes

I like to imagine

that she’s

googled me;

she’ll read

a few

of my poems

in an online

journal,

remember

the one

I penned for her

decades ago.

she’ll rise from her chair,

retrieve an old shoe box

from a closet,

sit down

at the kitchen table

with a cup of coffee,

tenderly lift

and unfold

a yellowed scrap

of notebook paper,

read that love poem

aloud,

smile,

look wistfully

out the window

into

her rose garden

and say,

“I’m glad

I didn’t marry

that poor bastard.”

From The Wild Goose Poetry Review Volume 4, Issue 4, Winter 2009.