fermi’s paradox

in a patio facing the street
a woman is crying into her cell phone
in front of her neatly arranged
there is a paperback a pencil a pack of merits
with a lighter tucked in a porcelain mug
emblazoned with a cute kitten and her hands
flutter and settle again like startled nestlings
she is slumped in a wicker chair in front of an oaken
table and her heart is broken

should have taken the alley haven’t i witnessed
enough of her flaunted grief on my way
from the metro on the last three occasions
yet i know it could have been worse
and cringe at the prospect of incessant laughter
this way at least i see what she is after
crying is a craft we never have to learn
and her secret by now is as good as mine
there’s no one at the other end of the line

you can turn the thing off altogether and the static
ceases just the little cosmos of random
objects fades against the wooden backdrop
all channels of communication are open
into the void where her plaintive voice
posts its daily bulletin of pain
with me limping glumly into the golden fall
as she cries and cries for no reason at all


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