May 2012
With the sound of her scream
still reverberating in my head
even two weeks after the fact,
I tap out the message
via the company email,
not the stuff dreams were made of
during those long lonely nights
in my basement
so, so apparently long ago,
rather the formal chilly message
of one professional to another,
as distant as she seemed
over the weeks prior to the bar,
remote even though I am
sending it from by cubical
beneath the stairs
while she sits in the bullpen
within shouting distance from me,
two tin can attached by string
might serve as well,
though I envision her face,
mouth and eyes as I transmit,
innocent chatter I desperately need,
if only to keep the channel
of communication open,
a thin thread that might break
with the wrong word said,
her face still floating in front of me,
clinging to the roof.
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