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.
Sometimes the smallest gesture can feel like a revelation.
In Salerno’s poem, that revelation is almost absurdly simple: a note left under a windshield wiper. Yet the moment carries the weight of recognition. The speaker says, “You are a nobody / until another man leaves / a note under your wiper.” That line captures something deeply human—our desire to be seen, desired, noticed.
For queer people especially, that kind of recognition has often come in coded or fleeting ways: a glance, a quiet comment, a scribbled note. The poem captures the nervous excitement that comes with possibility. Is it an invitation? A mistake? A beginning?
The only notes I’ve ever received under my windshield wipers have been someone complaining that I parked too close to their car or a parking ticket. I can’t say anyone has ever left me a flirtatious note like the one in the poem. Still, the idea of such a moment—something unexpected and slightly daring—has a certain charm to it.
Spring surrounds the poem—blossoms, pollen, warmth, fever. The season becomes a metaphor for awakening desire. But the poem is not simply about lust. The speaker wonders whether he wants something softer, even tender: someone to “hum me a lullaby.” That line shifts the emotional tone from flirtation to longing.
By the end, the speaker is driving alone along a winding river, the curves “like handwritten words.” The note might promise connection, but the poem ends in contemplation rather than fulfillment. Sometimes desire is less about what happens and more about the moment when possibility first appears.
About the Poem
“Notes For Further Study” is a poem about recognition, longing, and the fragile beginnings of attraction. The opening lines immediately establish the emotional stakes: identity and worth seem suddenly validated by another man’s attention.
Salerno uses ordinary details—pollen on a windshield, a radar detector, crepe myrtle blossoms—to ground the poem in the mundane world of everyday life. Yet these details carry symbolic weight. The speaker repeatedly wipes away pollen from the glass, suggesting a desire to see clearly or remove the haze of uncertainty surrounding this new encounter.
Spring imagery runs throughout the poem. The season represents both fertility and restlessness. The phrase “our fever” evokes both romantic excitement and the irrational rush that accompanies attraction.
The poem also reflects on the speaker’s past relationships with women. Rather than condemning those experiences, the poem acknowledges them with a curious gratitude: “Praise / be to those bodies lit / with magic.” This moment suggests a complex emotional history rather than a simple narrative of discovery.
Formally, the poem moves in short, flowing lines that mirror the motion of driving along a winding road. The final image—the river bending “like handwritten words”—suggests that desire itself is a kind of message, something written in curves rather than straight lines.
About the Poet
Christopher Salerno (born 1975) is an American poet, editor, and professor of creative writing. He was born in Somerville, New Jersey, and earned an MA from East Carolina University and an MFA from Bennington College.
Salerno is the author of several poetry collections, including Whirligig (2006), Minimum Heroic (2010), ATM (2014), Sun & Urn (2017), Deathbed Sext (2020), and The Man Grave (2021). His work has received numerous honors, including the Georgetown Review Poetry Prize and the Georgia Poetry Prize.
His poetry frequently explores masculinity, memory, grief, and the complexities of desire. Through vivid imagery and reflective narrative, Salerno often examines how everyday experiences—driving, listening to music, or brushing pollen from a windshield—can suddenly reveal deeper emotional truths.
In addition to his writing, Salerno teaches at William Paterson University in New Jersey and has served as an editor with Saturnalia Books, supporting the work of contemporary poets and helping bring new voices into the literary world.
Joe
The Closet Professor 