Helen
by J. Davies
But should I let the next one ring?
I might.
I’m sorry about everything, alright?
For running up your driveway late at night.
For burning out that motion sensor light.
For lying about every Queen I had and not keeping the old times ironclad.
For swapping out the best days for the bad.
For looking a bit too much like my dad.
I watched your purple eyebrows bend and drape above your cracked pink lips hanging agape
when I erased your Peter Jennings tape and then let all the freezer air escape.
I didn’t mean to leave them there, okay?
They wriggled as I wandered off to play.
You giggled when you said they all turned gray.
It took you slightly longer to decay.
For now I’ll let my voicemail say goodbye and sell the strongest parts of you to buy
a weaker conscious that might justify letting the next one ring until you die.
I might.
I’m sorry about everything, alright?
For running up your driveway late at night.
For burning out that motion sensor light.
For lying about every Queen I had and not keeping the old times ironclad.
For swapping out the best days for the bad.
For looking a bit too much like my dad.
I watched your purple eyebrows bend and drape above your cracked pink lips hanging agape
when I erased your Peter Jennings tape and then let all the freezer air escape.
I didn’t mean to leave them there, okay?
They wriggled as I wandered off to play.
You giggled when you said they all turned gray.
It took you slightly longer to decay.
For now I’ll let my voicemail say goodbye and sell the strongest parts of you to buy
a weaker conscious that might justify letting the next one ring until you die.
J. Davies is an elementary school teacher, so he doesn't publish under his legal name. He spends fall, winter, and spring wearing ties, scoring homework, and writing notes for disgruntled parents. He spends summer wearing slippers, scoring punk records, and writing poetry for himself.