I

My name is Scott Baker.
I wear glasses,
I have reddish-blondish-brownish hair,
I have freckles
and a modest beard.

I am six foot one,
one hundred and eighty pounds.

I write poems about my problems
because I think they matter,
because I think I matter.

But I don't.

I matter to my friends and family,
but to you,
to the world,
to the universe...
to the fucking universe

I am a molecule.

Dust

There are no hills in Nebraska,
only dust
and flurries of snow in December.

I touched down alone.
In the plane
I saw helicopter search lights.

I told her about what I saw,
and she said
she didn't see a thing.

I asked her if she loved me,
and she said
she had only eyes for me.

I spent Christmas with her,
and she said
she couldn't be more happy.

We decorated the tree
and she
even let me hang the star.

We ate out every night
and she
wouldn't let me pay.

I exited the airport terminal
and she
cried for two hours.

I asked her if she loved me three years later
and she said
she didn't see a thing.