Relationships so different
all have a commonality now:
There's nothing left to say
in every conversation.

It's just you and the shame.
Wrongdoings of the past
***** this lonely tower
where you crouch.

Too tired to cry,
too nothing to act.
Too ashamed to look up
at the grocery checkout girl.

So just stop eating.
Bar up your windows and doors.
Cancel the mail.
Phone rings:

You use your last hope
to unlock the screen.
It's an 800 number
but you answer anyway.

Walgreens' automated message
is a feminine voice:
Get your flu shot today
to protect friends and family.

You listen to the three-minute message,
four times.
It's nice not to hear the refrigerator hum,
for a little while.

The voice sounds nice
but you know how that'd end.
You'd be on the no-call list if they knew.
So you go on un-immunized.

Belly-up to the world,
sick at every exposure,
this shame whittles you down to bones:
Bones on the other end of the line.

Cold, skinned fingertips
cant slide green to answer.
800 numbers go to a voicemail
that will never be checked.