Helen Vivienne Fletcher
He touched my arm
at the end of the night.
This will probably be
the only time we meet, he said.
Though we might see each other
on the street one day
and we’ll both give fake smiles
because we know
we recognise each other
but we can’t remember from where.
And then later,
I’ll remember your name
and wish I’d stopped
but I’ll think of how you said
you’re bad with names
and guess that you don’t remember mine.
And the next time we see each other
I’ll start doing that dance
of do I stop…
do I not…
But you’ll look straight through me
because you’ve forgotten me
completely by then.
He hesitated. Of course we might
remember each other
from the Facebook photos
we’re both tagged in tomorrow.
A blush crept up his neck.
I’m sorry, he said.
I meant it was nice to meet you.
Hope to see you again sometime.