Awake at five, and you’re not listening
to two owls calling back and forth since four,
although you can’t not hear them. And it’s not
the early start that’s made you so damn sore
but envy of the one who, sending out
his note, repetitive and clear and pure,
is every time so promptly answered back,
who cannot know the meaning of unsure.
It’s not just that the signal’s so poor, down
here in the valley, as it was for your
five hours on the train, but that, for all
your calls and texts, your phone’s done nothing more
than spell the slow time since she Liked (but made
no comment on) the Facebook snap of you,
at last, two days ago, arriving here.
And one of you will crack, and you know who.
from Take This One to Bed
(Valley Press, October 2016)