So I type a text message,
Thinking of my wife in the afternoon,
Wondering whether “I Love you”
Is just professing my affection
Or just twisting the moment to my advantage,
Of needing a communication.
Something to break the cold frothy waves,
All around me, in the silence of ghosts,
That appear through the salt.
The people before me who have
Occupied this room, ate their lunches
On the same desk, or composed
Text message of the same three words.
Three words that at that moment
Was an SOS, to save me from the
Sheer boredom, of being trapped
Inside a gas fortress, that like
A gas chamber crumbles you just enough,
When you lose the mojo in the fingers and toes,
While the full tummy keeps the churn,
Going on, solvating the starch and protein.
Friday afternoons, they are always like this
When you’re just a frank sketch of “Every man is an island”
Waiting for the clock to strike 4 PM,
To unburden from the slow deposit of time
Morhping out of the sedentary
To make “I Love You”, the pressing
Of different buttons, when the keyboard
Is a lot more supple and noisier, than that,
Of my Sony Ericson phone.