Auto-complete commits to my mistakes

(my mom becomes a mountain). One minute’s

effort on the internet fails to explain

how white words were etched

into old photographs. I’ve no third thing.


Reading this to myself I convince myself

this is poetry (I have a lilt). Having misread

a text from a friend about another friend

and how things went, I lost it—yowling in

the basement about commitment


I assumed the worst. I ignore my mother

and she has to text my wife. There are photos

of my son’s namesake’s wedding and I

made no comment to date. What now?

Rush to do better? Yah, I guess so.


I open Facebook again with empty hope.




Props to jesslyn “we can’t see if the foundation is cracked” delia for getting me all parenthetical. She too is writing a poem-a-day for National Poetry Month, so follow her too.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s