bad ideas.

i saw her index card

in the trash, a black

recycling bin

without nothing else

but her plain white

index card and her words.

she wrote down the front,

and halfway down the back,

she wrote with unrushed 

letters, slightly italicized,

slightly square, and

wholly detached.

i read the card,

having stolen it

(i wanted to keep it,

but it would have been

a bad idea), listening to

the things she wrote

as if i were inhaling 

my drink from a straw

too fast to taste

its components and time.

i wondered why the author

had left it untorn, 

had thrown it away

where others could read.

was she hoping 

there would be others

to join her card, so 

that it could hide

safe underneath?

or had she hoped

for someone to come

and see it lonely,

white against black,

to pick it up

(as i have) and read it,

thoroughly or not,

keep it, 

or not.