backyard crowing



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Left

Left

I lounge frantically amid the crowd's gentle hum
Eyes darting about each smile
Eagerly anticipating his

Minutes slip past
Oblivious to my fruitless attempts to house them
Safely,
In the fewest number

Enough of these pesky agitators,
Time to probe an authority
Who replies,

"He, with a blond beard?"
Left.

I dial
I explain after a beep
I wait
(I'm good at it)

"Sry bout that"
My insipid, gleaming chunk of technology spits

I sputter

Nobody taught that boy how to apologize

Nor I how not to care

11:54 pm - Wednesday, Jan. 31, 2007
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