I have a flip top phone
Like Captain Kirk,
Only my fingers are
Too big to work
The buttons
Trying to respond
To the ping of
The messages
She sends me
Five times a night,
We part of some
Secret society of two
I can’t keep up with,
Clutching my phone
To my chest
As if it might bring
Me salvation,
Clicking out my
Slow response,
Looking at pictures
She sends
That make me ache,
Unable to click
Fast enough
To click out exactly
How I feel,
Just Captain Kirk
Landing on a planet
He has no business
Landing on,
The pain of it
As much pleasure
As it is painful,
Handcuffed to a
Flip top hone
Like ET waiting
For yet another
Message from
Outer space,
Needing to go
Home when
I’m already there.
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