That Greenpoint Roof

I really wish you’d given me your real name
when we were making out
on that Greenpoint roof
last week.
I doubted that you would
– it seemed so unlikely there would be a Mabel
in this day and age
but it was my grandmother’s name
and I thought that it was some kind of sign
like you were meant for me,
someone with unique qualifications
to be in my life.
You said you were Mabel
but I saw you as Hope.

But I guess Mabel wasn’t who you really were
like that ring
on your wedding finger
was probably not a family heirloom
and that sore on your face
was probably no big deal.
I wanted to believe in you, Mabel,
and I did
last week
in that Greenpoint roof
where I didn’t know too many people
so you could be
whomever you needed to be.

I could probably find out more.
I knew Enrique
and you seemed friendly with his friend.
Maybe there’s a way
to track you down.
But you probably don’t want that
like you probably didn’t want me
the way you seemed to
on that warm Wednesday
in that quiet roof
Late into the night
with no one to watch us
but the birds.

I wonder what they thought of us,
if they understood what went on
better than I did
if they knew the numbers were wrong,
the name was false,
and the moment was not very special at all.

I could have lived you
and quickly.
And I do miss you, Mabel
whoever you are.

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