The Maynard
Spring 2015

Stockholm Effect

We all have eyes and mouths but complain we’re different.

Snow can pile up against any house.

I love your footprints in the mud; they could be anybody’s.

A stadium full of people cheering sounds the same in any city.

We all hate mosquitoes.

I’ll be the one with hair and hands, you can’t miss me.

The day after my best friend died, I could remember her straight white teeth, but not her whole face.

When she was rude, she still had beautiful legs.

In the thirty-flavour gelato cafe, I’ll never see this mix of people again.
I won’t recall a single feature on any face.

Maybe a long shoe, or the way the guy in line ahead of me
had huge hands and tiny pockets.

No one is forcing me to wait.

I hate the skinny barista, hair fallen over one eye, for holding me here.
For loving what he has to offer.