Semper

“What's with you and that rotary phone,”

you asked once by the spruce beside the stoop

Moments later, you asked me the same thing

and then it was another night and our friendship was gone.

A few years later, the phone rang . . .

the same. “what the hell,” you hung up on me

and the spruce was dead . . .

The phone is gone

rushed to the abyss by the merry progress of light

through almost-wires — gone.

“Progress. That's really all it is, enjoy,”

you scratched on a postcard with a chicken on it

from your condo in Medford. “What does that mean?” I ask.

You're not there. A street light buzzes and flickers,

"Progress?" but my cellphone gets no signal

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.