Telephones Suck

Telephones Suck

I could call.

But you know, calling ought to

mean, “Meet me at Café Ardour”

or “wanna make me that dynamite

chana masala? I’ll bring the Pinot Gris.”

I would call.

But how can I distill my

latest adventure into sentences

with periods? How can you study

my face and inquire, “why that wrinkle?”

I should call.

But how many times

have we scolded, “Don’t

should!” So you would expect

nothing more or less of me—me.

I won’t call.

But I will let you (and the world)

know how much I miss you

and wish you 

were here.