DON'T TELL ME

DON’T TELL ME

don’t tell me –
don’t – I know
you’re nervous
like a cat
touching your
tie - as cats
lick their paws
you – lick your
lips
ready to tell me

don’t tell me
don’t – I know
you haven’t a
smile on your
face or will
you look my
way – I disturbed
your routine
for the morning –
asked your for a
few things – a few
dollars for a
dunkin donut
medium coffee
black with a
little ice -
asked for a few
dollars for a
possible half
sandwich at
just meats – or
half a salad on
the side

your routine of
a meal crossing
broadway – to a
fancy place because
you work nearby
is part of your day

don’t tell me –
don’t – I know
you will glare at
me with dark
eyes – watch my
hands as I hold
my dunkin donut
coffee – black
with a little ice –
so I don’t have
to wait to drink –
thinking I will
spill it on your
car seat

the doors open
at seven and you
kept twisting and
turning all night –
kept me awake –
I tried to lock
knees – touch
your skin – feel
your head because
you were in pain –
you said

you kept me awake
and I worried like
the mother cat –
who cleans the
kitten’s fur –
like the one who
stays home and
stares out a
window –
digging for a
dollar in dimes

don’t tell me
don’t – I know
my heart was placed
in the center
of my chest –
it beats – it cares
it gives – it sings
out – it gives –
it gives – but you
sit there in your
car – taking a
right hand turn
and a quick left
glancing at the
hands holding a
full cup of coffee

you tell me –
to be careful –
not enough cash
for a taxi ride
home – not
enough time for
a kiss goodbye

I turned
I wanted to wave
goodbye –
you never looked
back.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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