Down the cracks
in the bricks
outside of bars
searching
for that one
drink that made
all the cells
in my brain
scream and shiver
your name.
Like Happy Hour,
we’ve been over,
but my fingers
a running tab
dialing your number,
messing up twice
before I finally
hear the drowsy
Hello.
Swallowing
the word wrong
the night reverses.
You pray for me,
invoking Jesus
to save me,
pick me up
in a taxi
to help me
move on.
I discussed this
with the dialtone.
Sympathetic
to my plight.
Wondering if
God answered
prayers
over cellphones.
Poetry and Writing Posts
I-10
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