Friday, August 3, 2012


You can call me Boo,
You can call me butter head,
sausage boy, or bowtie moo-cow,
But if you want to be my huckleberry,
You better call me soon.

Nights are the blindness of the lonely.
My island uncharted without you,
No shipping lanes or ice-cream crates
Are in sight, just birds of doubt that
Circle endlessly and won’t give me a fish.

Lightning scars the face of my solitudes,
The fleeting ghost glow shows no clue,
Of a rescue ship to free me, a vessel of hope
Streamlined with love and captained by you-
Please call me now and call me Boo.

Something moves determinedly around my camp,
A minor chorus of rasping breath and tippy tap claws
Accompany this unwelcome guest’s sly parade.
It wants to spite me and then bite me, I know-
Still there’s no alarm to ring and banish my foe.

I feel a strange reverberation underneath…
My phone - its set on vibrate and I’m getting a call!
What’s this? It says “unknown” on the display.
Cruel fate! Why can’t she call me now and call me Boo?
I’d rather be eaten by guilt than talk to a stranger!

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