Friday poem

I'm posting an original poem every Friday for a year.

Satellite

She and I are connected today

only by satellite, and

this keypad is

too small for my fingers,

and anyway I

can't be sure my words will

reach her.

What if the satellite sends them astray?

Am I mistakenly telling some hausfrau she means everything to me?

Will I accidentally remind a stranger of our last few hours together?

Maybe the NSA will believe me when I say it's the only spy agency for me, that we can work through these questions about us, our future. Of course, there's no guarantee my words will reach a person at all.

I might be promising a reindeer

I'll be waiting for her when she returns,

or describing to a dolphin how her perfume

lingers on my favorite shirt,

how much that small scent means to me. Or I may miss the satellite entirely.

In a far-off world, light-years away, an alien wonders if we really did belong together.

Listen, you strange menagerie:

Stay out of this.

Unless you can tell me the words I need to bring her home.

Then, let me hear from you.