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Notes for Further Study
By Christopher Salerno
You are a nobody
until another man leaves
a note under your wiper:
I like your hair, clothes, car—call me!
Late May, I brush pink
Crepe Myrtle blossoms
from the hood of my car.
Again spring factors
into our fever. Would this
affair leave any room for error?
What if I only want
him to hum me a lullaby.
To rest in the nets
of our own preferences.
I think of women
I’ve loved who, near the end,
made love to me solely
for the endorphins. Praise
be to those bodies lit
with magic. I pulse
my wipers, sweep away pollen
from the windshield glass
to allow the radar
detector to detect. In the prim
light of spring I drive
home alone along the river’s
tight curves where it bends
like handwritten words.
On the radio, a foreign love
song some men sing to rise.
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About the Poem
There is something achingly familiar in this poem for many gay men, especially those who came of age learning to read desire in fragments, gestures, and coded moments. A note under a windshield wiper becomes more than flirtation—it becomes recognition. You are a nobody until another man notices you. That line carries the quiet loneliness of invisibility and the sudden electricity of being seen.
Christopher Salerno captures the strange mixture of hope, caution, lust, tenderness, and melancholy that can accompany even the smallest encounter. Spring, with its blossoms and pollen and feverish renewal, becomes the perfect backdrop for possibility. Yet beneath the flirtation is uncertainty. Is this about romance? Sex? Comfort? Escape? The speaker wonders if he only wants “him to hum me a lullaby,” which feels less like seduction and more like a longing to rest safely in another person’s presence.
I also love how physical the poem feels without ever becoming explicit: the pollen on the windshield, the pulse of the wipers, the river curving “like handwritten words.” Everything is movement and sensation. Even driving home alone carries emotional weight. Desire lingers in the air like spring humidity.
What strikes me most is the ending. A foreign love song “some men sing to rise.” The line feels both deeply personal and universal—a reminder that queer longing has always existed, often in coded forms, carried through songs, glances, poems, and half-understood signals. Sometimes survival itself has depended on learning how to hear those songs.
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About the Poem
“Notes for Further Study” is a contemporary lyric poem that explores queer desire, loneliness, intimacy, and emotional ambiguity through the lens of an ordinary moment. Christopher Salerno uses everyday imagery—cars, windshield wipers, spring blossoms, radio music—to create a meditation on what it means to be recognized and desired by another person.
The poem moves fluidly between memory, observation, and reflection. Its title suggests both emotional self-examination and the unfinished nature of human connection: these are “notes,” not conclusions. The poem’s emotional power comes from its restraint, allowing longing and vulnerability to emerge through image and implication rather than overt declaration.
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About the Author
Christopher Salerno is an American poet, editor, and educator known for poetry that often explores identity, desire, memory, and emotional vulnerability with lyrical precision. He is the author of several poetry collections, including The Man Grave and Sun & Urn. Salerno’s work frequently balances sensual imagery with introspective reflection, creating poems that feel both intimate and intellectually searching.
In addition to his poetry, Salerno has worked extensively in literary publishing and editing, helping support contemporary poetry and emerging writers through journals and literary organizations.
Thankfully, I am feeling better today. I still have a slight headache, and I barely slept last night, but I’m not in as much pain as when I woke up yesterday. I wish I could stay home another day, but I have things I have to do at work today.
