Played Out

I’m caught in my cross-garters, crossing
the square from where you said we’d meet
to where I started, between ‘You’re here’
and nowhere, eyeing the lines of diners,
crossing back to where you might be, waiting,
re-crossing, re-tracing the lines to find your face
then losing mine, outside in the rain, ridiculous:
my yellow stockings hanging at my ankles.