On the sidewalk,
by the pay-phone,
someone dropped 
a thousand peso 
Golden Garcia
and I used it to call you.

That must have been
enough.
Connecting me
and Mexico City
with you
and Oklahoma City,
but there was only
your machine.

You visit your Mother
on Sundays,
since she got sick.
I felt so foolish
not remembering,
suddenly unsure 
what to say.
I didn’t leave
a message.
 


Doug Mathewson: Doug Mathewson is a mutt-faced fellow who imagines he lives in a stone gothic tower which sways and clings to lichen covered ancient cliffs that loom high over the northern sea. Actually he works from his home in eastern Connecticut as a writer and editor of short fiction. He edits Blink-Ink’s quarterly print publication, and is a contributing editor at MUST. He also and melts crayons on his radiators and dares to call it art. Most recently he has been published by The Boston Literary Magazine, Battered Suitcase, Callus Hands, Eclectic Flash, Full of Crow, Poor Mojo’s Almanac(k), Right Hand Pointing, and riverbabble. Snips and snags of his work can be found at www.little2say.org

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