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The phone rings,
Or rather vibrates,
As I stir my instant coffee
Because my Keurig is broken
And I haven’t gotten around to replacing it.
The lady on the other end
Of the call
Says she’s with the bank.
She’s selling identity theft protection subscriptions.
I listen to her
What that is
With mild excitement growing in my stomach;
Not with regards to the
But over the
Tones and intonations —
The way she breathes:
I let her run with it,
Feigning curiosity at first.
A question here,
To really get her going.
I wonder when she was last ******?
She asks to verify my name,
She mentions a credit score package
(Ooh la la)
That will provide me with insight as to whether my identity has ever been
(This call
Is getting steamy)
She tells me that in order to receive the package I need to confirm my enrolment in the subscription.
Could you repeat that?’
I can feel it
My soul,
As I sip my ****** instant coffee.
I tell her
That I absolutely won’t enrol,
That I refuse,
But that she should be a voice actor
Or that if she was a voice option for Siri
I would surely select her.
She doesn’t have a response,
Choosing to wish me a good evening instead,
And to thank me on behalf of her employer.
Thank you dear.
Call this number whenever you like.
I don’t want your talents to go unappreciated by other customers
Who I’m sure are all swines.’
I stare at the ended call
And fantasize about your voice,
And when you were last ******.
Too bad the coffee is ****.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
“So good to be checked in on :)”


so informed, I’m thinking,
yes, I know,
it is a spécialité de ma maison,
checking in on far and dear, not so near, ones,

ask myself why,
and the answer comes easy,
intrusion and extrusion.

the pleasant shock of stumbling into an old friend,
both stuck in the revolving door at Macys Herald Square,
which is odd because it’s DECADES since I was there.

there are many outposts on the poetry cables
who have received this SOS, and the inevitable outcome is
a new poem commissioned and perhaps, no admission,
that’s the why and the wherefore surely so purely selfish.

need a guide to help me pick apples and pumpkins,
which is not in my wheelhouse of expertise,
thinking you could give me a boost,
so selfish, you see, picking up the pieces of fall(ing)
and poem titles from, then for, friends.

for you never know
when and how well,
cinnamon apple and pumpkin cream pie
soothes the souls from home grown tumult,
with hot tea.

SOs, how ya doing?

just checking in...

Amanda Kay Burke May 2019
I wonder what you're doing
Dwelling does not change how I feel
It becomes extremely hard controlling
Painful thoughts that won't let me heal

Time is supposed to mend wounds
I fear it's making them worse
My overwhelming desire for you
Has become the sweetest curse

I wish for a pleasanter plague to punish
Then we wouldn't be connected
Been watching in silent observation
To see if I end up rejected

You are lying in bed
Be free of dark thoughts
Do not be pulled by negative energy
Memory you all but forgot

Why do I coldly imagine what's on your mind?
Sit and find no conclusion
What you don't know is your image invades my brain
Cannot tell if I love or hate the intrusion
If you want to know where your heart is look to where your mind goes when it wanders
Thera Lance Jan 2019
The Home Owners Association
Came by again today
With open glares at
The green crawling across my chestnut walls,
Blocking out my view of
Their pale tan plaster and
Baby blue curtains.

Fees clutched in hand
Eviction notices in their prayers,
They march up to a house,
Existing outside of their domain,
Bought by a grandfather
And never sold to no developer.

I watch with arms crossed
As they step past tomato plants
Whose fathers I planted with mine long ago.

Pleasantries exchanged
Mean nothing combined with
Cold eyes on me as
I politely tell them that their nobility
Has no jurisdiction.

Later when,
One let’s his dog dig up
Pieces of my lawn-less garden,
I stare from my curtain of leaves
At exposed roots,
The veins of a child’s loss reaching into air.

Tears will do no more than moisten the corners
As I walk outside
Camera in hand
Staring at a man
Who slowly droops
While shame dribbles back into his eyes.

Nothing is said,
Even when he turns and quietly walks away,
Leash held slack in hand
And dog loyally trailing behind.
A combination of fiction, news stories, and the real life daily dealings when confronting Surburbia.
FairlyCultured Nov 2018
Be it a dead silent dark night,
With the clock counting dead hour.

Or a walk through a chaotic lane
With the people busy in chitter-chatter.

My thoughts have completely been absorbed
By the warmth, and everything that is him.

My mind has gone wild.
It doesn't stop dreaming and thinking.

I wish I could post my senses to an eternal rest
Because it's beautiful and exhausting.
Gleeful and yet hurting.
Have you ever fancied someone so much, that you keep thinking about them and it's tiring..
Amanda Kay Burke Oct 2018
You were every fantasy I imagined
Inside my head, perfect intrusion
Don't want to lose these childish hopes
Can't hold a man who's an illusion.

Let me sleep, be at peace
Worry will come when I wake
Contol over urges is weak at best
Drawn to the people who bring me heartache.

Of the dreams I've sacrificed
The hardest to lose is the future we planned
Promised myself I'd mature and grow
Reasons took time to understand.

What happened to nightly conversations?
Once was my favorite part of each day
My heart torn in two directions
I foresee danger either way.

How do I choose which way to head?
Stuck thoughts which cost me sleep
Try to stop them with mental blocks
Over the hurdles hours leap.

Feels like you're always lurking in the shadows
Where your memory burns like fire
In false promises identity is revealed
Lost in a maze of sweet desire.

The human in front of me
Does not match the image in my mind
Seems you've grown roots hidden in my brain
Not as simple as it sounds to leave you behind.
Erasing someone from your life is one thing. Erasing someone from your heart is a different story.
Nazrana Kalil May 2018
studies finds that a person can fall in love four times in a lifetime
and yes i agree...its possible
I've loved you for the first time when i was much younger
when your youth just began and mines still soft and tender

I've loved you for the second time.
I've loved you when you randomly spoke in low tones
when your voice deepened and mines high pitched with hormones

I've loved you for the third time.
I've loved you when you held my trust and smiled at another
when your mouth finally reached your cheeks and mines shudder

I've loved you for the fourth time.
I've loved you when you touched my lips and held my hand gently
when you whispered little secrets while i sang to the river intensely

I love you for the times you showed me the depths of my soul confusions.
i love you for the unknown steps you followed unknowingly conducting an intrusion.

i love you for so many reasons
but mostly, I love you for proving the studies wrong
as I've fallen in love with you everyday for the pass one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days
and i swear i will keep falling in love with you
Allyssa Oct 2017
I wonder if it is the divine right for a king not to apologize.
A king resting in his glory hole,
Savagely ripping apart his council,
Smashing fortifications to the ground in spite.
Some view his kingdom a paradise on the outside but within,
Bricks of hell layer one another in heaps of hate and misconception,
A queen bowing her head in dismay.
Subjects fall without ease,
Knights taking territory from every which way,
The wrath of this king spread over territory not his.
A reign that was not his own.
To the king, his divine right lay with God but to his queen,
His power lays within the dirt their subjects part each other from.
Something a little different.
Lauren Randall Apr 2016
So we saunter up to each new prospect,
slow and sly and seductive in our invitations.
"Look at what made me this way.
Wouldn't you like to see?" More
and more until we've disrobed and dismantled ourselves
to the absolute limits of our abilities (our willingness?).
We repeat this display of sacred
shedding until we finally elicit that awe-inducing look
of "concerned understanding" -  we complain
that we are misinterpreted in Cassady fashion
when we make no real efforts to be understood.
"Care most about me." Let me mystify you with myths of me,
perverse nursery rhymes lulling you into a slumber inside my skull
from which you will wake with a start,
demanding release from that citadel you so wished to infiltrate
when it was your hands that needed warming.
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