the last time again

the elevator opens 
but not fast enough
because on the way out 
last time 
i clocked a water fountain
by the concierge 

the clothes i wore to your place
aren’t comfortable this morning 
i doubt i’ll ever wear them 
again 
	
i don’t even like the sex pistols 
i just saw the record on your floor
the last time before last time 
and the t-shirt on the sale rack 
while i searched 
for physical copies of the first
albums that came up on google 
when it auto completed, 
the best punk albums of all time
the best punk albums of the 80s
the best punk albums of the 90s…

the bus is late, and my phone almost dead
but i’ll use the remaining juice
to message you. i want to know
if you’ve moved, lit a cigarette
or started unpacking the remaining boxes 
since i left 

i don’t have your number
the app isn’t loading 
and now it’s at 3 per cent
and low power mode 
can’t save me now 

tap to erase the first draft
then the second 
then the third
then the phone dies. 
and the last thing i see
is kindling for self deprecation 
the little flame 
the oil stained screen
and the blurry reflection 
of a confused person

© J. Michael Freiwald