She said that she saw you.
I thought that wasn’t true.
The girl that she had pointed at was old.
You’re fresh and new.

From distance I could see
why she’d relayed to me
your presence near, but it was clear
that here you would not be.

When lastly we had talked
you’d completely balked
at spending time in places I
had claimed I’d ever walked.

But she’d claimed you’d arrived
so in me hope had thrived
until I took a look at her.
Then my hope just died.

She seemed like if your life
had suffered some great strife;
like you’d become a mother
or a welfare-worn housewife.

It made me feel quite good
that in my neighborhood
if you would make no visit
than at least this lesser would

and since she looked so bad
I could remain unsad
and live without much missing you
and keep myself quite glad.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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