She dreams in rainbows, just outside her head,
And wraps herself in coats that look like cats.
You didn’t hear a word that she just said,
But, luckily, she doesn’t notice that.
Of course, she’s heard the Audrey Hepburn thing
So many times, it must be a cliché.
But as you try to think of other things
To say, you slip and say it anyway.
The bus arrives, she smooths her skirt and smirks
And nods her head as if to say goodbye.
You don’t know where she lives or where she works.
You didn’t get her number. Didn’t try.
The bus pulls into traffic, and you stand,
And fill your pockets up with your own hands.