A poem about a conversation between two girlfriends about a man.
My telephone rang.
“He sang to me last night,” she said, happiness in her voice.
That is so romantic, I said.
“He sang about not thinking he’d ever find love again, and then he met me,” she said.
He is so romantic, I said.
“He doesn’t think he is,” she said.
He is, I said.
Written & illustrated by T. DeAcosta, 1999