by Michael Estabrook
I remember that time in college when Patti decided she needed to date other guys to be certain I was the one for her. I hid above the cafeteria and watched out the window as they came in for lunch. He threw snowballs at her and she giggled and clutched her scarf to her chest. I wonder how different her life would be if she were with someone else like that guy right now. I mean if this jackass would have been sweet and caring and attentive instead of pawing at her the whole damn day, she might have found something in him, something she connected with and loved. Then things would have been so different from the way they are now, I probably wouldn’t be here today.
Michael Estabrook, like a surfer searching for the perfect wave, is a poet prowling for the perfect poem.