Something about her strikes me: I would be friends with her.
The sweet waitress at Friendly’s who took an extra second to smile,
Or the giggly but oddly-dressed girl Cousin Sean brought to Christmas,
Or the girl who stopped her car at the crosswalk, smiled as she leaned forward into the steering wheel, and let me by.
Or the sad girl at the Mexican restaurant,
Or the one walking down North Washington Street,
Or the one I might find at the corn maze, waiting.
These I have singled out from the rest of the population,
They are my would-be friends.
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