By Casey Corcoran

After I signed the check
I showed you how, that night,
I thought that the “C’s” in my signature
curled in a nice way that I was proud of.

It was like I had made something which
you and I and our waiter could enjoy aesthetically,
in a passive and momentary sort of way.

I still remember how you said
that a nice looking signature was a sign of self-importance
and the way you smiled, coyly,

seemingly both earnest and happy,
because you knew that you had made me think
about something I had never thought of before.

I remember how your smile
left its own signature
in the back of my mind
and at the bottom of every check
that I would sign after that night.