I looked up and saw him:
on the angles of his face,
against green metal lockers.
His farewell nod cut me
like a switchblade down my cheek
as I was left alone
in a blurred sea of strangers' faces.
Sing for me, Céline.
Shatter these blank beige walls
with the fierce sweetness of your voice.
Let these linoleum tiles
burst into a riot of blood-red roses.
Shout out my pain
in the howling snowstorms of our country.
Whisper my lost hopes
like a withered November leaf.
You know how it feels
to be sliced open by love.
My own voice is thin and shaky,
a child's whine in an empty corridor.
I clear out the debris of one more dream,
cranking the volume on my iPod.
He is gone.