I know she is there hiding
inside the sandwich board,
and she knows I know she is there.
And I know she is the one
tickling my foot while I stand.
And she knows I know it is her.
But for an hour and some,
I hunt for her behind columns,
in windows, inside my sleeves.
I call her name and pout
when she doesn’t appear.
And for an hour and some,
she crouches inside
her small sandwich board tent,
and giggles at not being found.
All around us the people rush past
to work, to lunch, to coffee shops,
to all the places we see each other hide.
That’s pretty cute, and a surprise how you end it. The refrain-like syntax works well to hold an essentially narrative poem into a lyrical structure. I might suggest getting rid of the last “to” in the last stanza…, though that’s just cosmetics. Stick it under the sandwich board !
Few things tickle a young ‘un’s funny bone more than the sillinesses of an adult pretending they can’t find them. She wasn’t up your sleeves, huh? Oh deary me, where else could she be?
I like the plot-twist, poem-twist?, at the end, too. *sigh* And how often we hiding, knowing those around us know we’re hiding. Ergo, we hide, but not very well, not really. (And especially not from ourselves?)