The 15 Poem by Ben Partenay

When you, when you read this,
when you read this I
picture you sitting underneath
a window, with your head against
the sill.

It's dark out and you're reading with
a lamp next to you. It's raining out
and every so often a drop splashes
off the sill
off your hair
off your face
onto the page.

It's four years from now. Four years
and you're still somewhere I am not.
You always loved the rain, either that
or I never knew you. Four years and maybe
I never knew you.

Either that or I picture you
reading this drunk, riding the bus home
from the bars, the clubs.
Either way is fine.
I picture you reading this
in a rain jacket, you have a scarf
on. You're wearing your tight
jeans. I picture you,
laughing at the title.

When you read this I
want you to see yourself in it. I
want the words to fall off the page
into your pocket. I want them
to haunt you. I want you to carry them
home with you,
for once.

Part of me, the part I never show you
worries you will hate me, or forget me.
I should have told you that. I picture
you reading this, grinding your teeth,
like sometimes you did in your sleep.
You wanted a story,
here it is, some story, I know.
Are you on the bus still?
Is it raining?
Is the 15 still never on time?