ON IMPULSE

If she likes my poetry
I will lick her nose

If she wants my autograph
I’ll jiggle her hands thankfully
All ten fingers, her ten flags

If she feeds me
I’ll throw food and pound the table
I need a high chair

If she manages a music camp
I’ll empty out my pockets
Bring her plums

If she speaks a language I don’t understand
I’ll go limp with relief

If she is at all familiar to me
I’ll have second thoughts and turn away