Invisible Lover Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

In 9th grade, I fell in love
with a blond cheerleader,
as she and her girlfriends,
walked to the new Foster's Freeze
across from school.

I regularly fell in love
with inaccessible women:
A circus midget, who looked
hot in a green-sequin dress;
a sensuous babe in a novel;
a cousin seen once a year.

A friend supplied her name,
the office a phone number
and after only fifteen
aborted tries, I called Lori,
planning never (like Tchaikovsky's
patron)to meet her.

Beachhead established
I regularly talked to her,
as winter shadows lengthened,
eventually learning more
about her than her priest.

She grew fond of my voice,
remembered my poetry,
prompted me to call often.

Knowing I was near,
she asked how she looked,
how boys thought. We talked
about the mysteries of dating,
sex, parents, teachers, friends,
the meaning of life; became
comfortable sharing
deep fears and yearnings.

The night I said I was moving,
could call no more,
Lori cried; anguish so sincere,
for years afterwards I wished
that just one time
I would have smiled at her.
Said, "Hi."Touched her hand.

Been someone she'd have noticed,
when she looked.