all the crazy boys

All the crazy boys know my name.

They seek me out in crowds,

at subway stations.

They leave bouquets of wildflowers

at my doorstep.

I don’t know why.

I guess they have a radar on

for girls like me.


The crazy boys find me

when I least expect it.

Walking in the rain.

Riding on the bus.

Getting over

another crazy boy.

They woo me with their wildness:

with their rebel minds,

their sexy smiles,

the sultry way in which

they don’t quite

make sense.


All the crazy boys

know my number.

They call me up past midnight

to tell me stories

thinking it is noon.


The crazy boys have histories

you would not want to guess at

and it does not surprise me to learn

after a while

they all come from the same place.


It seems the crazy boys are brothers

from the same family.

They got the gene for dark-eyed, handsome

madness and Lord knows

they got a thing for me.