Let me make as much noise as
I can. Look at me, I’m as happy
As can be. Sputtering, vibrating,
Carefully maintained for maximum
Decibel enjoyment. Sit by my side,
Look out the window and
Talk about nothing.
Many years spent together.
Many conversations and the
Shared, familiar laughter of
Congenial experience.
Harmonious chatter,
Joyful exchanges.
Always there for me.
Always understanding what I was
Thinking or saying. Always talking,
That’s how I returned the favor.
Now I make up stories about
How you were because I
Never asked or listened.
She felt unwhole and did the unwholesome.
She felt unloved and loved no one, including herself.
She felt unsatisfied and so her life went.
A slow, tortuous, paralyzing journey to places
She didn’t want to visit, with people she could
Not have cared less about.
Flipping through the images stored on a chip
As cold and impersonal as the experiences
She pretended to enjoy.
Look at me, look at me.
I want to be seen, I want to be seen.
Here’s my cat, here’s my cat.
I’m drinking coffee, I’m drinking coffee.
I’m so down, I’m so down.
I’m so up, I’m so up.
Message me, message me.
Talk to me, talk to me.
Are you there? Are you there?
I’m here, I’m here.
Look at me, look at me.
Let us travel to a place where
We can leave behind the
Disappointments of the day
And acquire a beautiful new
Condominium with onyx
Counter tops and gold
Towel holders, and one of those
Intercom things that lets us know
Someone is here to visit and
We buzz them in to spend
An afternoon immersing
Ourselves in refreshing
Daiquiris and dancing,
Golden towel holders
Resplendent.
The winter birds arrive
After their long journey,
Enjoying a well-deserved rest,
Having a snack,
Taking a tour of the garden to
Remember its contours.
Happy to see them,
We’re reminded of time.
A pernicious myth
That those who accumulate
A vast amount of wealth
Are somehow better
Than everyone else:
Wiser, more industrious,
Gifted in some way,
When what’s really going on
Is that they were
In the right place
At the right time.
Countless others toil
Just as hard,
If not more,
For far less,
There but for chance.
A door opens on a
Narrow lane in a small
Hillside town forgotten
By time. She steps out
Into the familiar mix
Of shadow and light
Playing off stone.
A neighbor walks by,
The perfunctory hello.
Once in a while she sees
A tourist or two, adventurous
Sorts who journey to isolated
Places for an authentic experience.
She wishes she could tell
Them what her life is like,
Ask them to take her with them.
