Poetry
Felix Thursday
Poem Writ on Winter Solstice in Yreka
There's no sadder sight than a phone booth
On the edge of morning out walking
with a pocketful of stale cigarettes and forty cents
reciting loneliness
After leaving strangers sunk over their drinks
and the last chance for a sex cure behind you
Remaining a ghost even in daylight
Condemned to a sidewalk destiny
Change drops
in anticipation of a ring
Connecting to a voice from someone who's
somewhere other than a payphone
Something tangible to remind you
you're not dead
But it swallows your words
and discards the most vulnerable you
