for Paul

the man on the bike who rubs my back, the cobblestone
he rides on, I see him on the corner, where
the faded mail box gulp my bills

he pedals by my laundromat, my favorite pizza place,
the payphone, its receiver dangling, I lifted to my lips
when I had no phone

to call my husband, who left me
because I had affair

when I missed him

I wrote this poem many years ago. I finished it this week, finally utilizing the work shopping of my friend and mentor Paul Casella, without whom I would never have been brave enough to release my poems to the world. Deep gratitude to you Paul , and sincere thanks to all of you for reading. © 2013 Abby Smith, Writer