I’ve been trying to tell you we shouldn’t talk anymore but you won’t
answer my phone calls.
I’ve been talking to the woman at the laundromat instead, she says: “
70 cents a lb.”
Taken out of context this could be a huge boon for us.
Think of what we could get for 70 cents a lb…
We’d be a millionaire by balloons!
Turns out you were in the stone library
researching types of rubber.
In turns we were outside on the stairs.
We had pamphlets,
we wanted to talk to you about the Andes;
how the gods, all turned to goats to gain our favor,
never turned back.
Do you imagine little dog ears around the moon?
Have you noticed the black ink border around your arms
has started to fade? Even as you trace it with cotton,
and it’s tinted carmine.
I can tell you your piano is gone.
But I won’t that the floorboards that wore out
under its pedals, still know your songs by a note or two.
They work at them when I get up to go to the bathroom.
They’re in my palms,
when I’m trying to mute the pitch of the subway rails.
Photo Credit: Martin Cathrae//CC BY-SA 2.0