Voicemail Poems

This time with Natives, not my old bougie choice Of American Spirits. I took up nail polish In Millennial Pink. I started mixing Sangria With Coca-Cola. I went to work and dipped in and out of lives, Looked at grandchildren peering out from wallets; I touched the shoulder of a man who drinks Elevated IPAs like he might die tomorrow. He might die tomorrow. He waits for the bus and stumbles outside. I was supposed to help him remember, But I got hypnotized by Chelsea Wolfe, that haunting: “How many years have I been sleeping?” But who listens to lyrics anymore? I give him a bag of Lay’s. I pat him On the shoulder. Softly, softly Driving home from the bar with Depeche Mode on, I can finally Hear my own tires taking me Home. Not anywhere I want to be. Not up in the mountains, where high Prairie flowers break your heart One by one. Too delicate. Was everything on Earth built to fail? A couple show me a video of a baby Learning to talk. We laugh. As I turn To wash the glasses, the detergent Slides up my