every time i go east
i call, i text, i email
he used to have a separate bedroom
for his parakeet, Zola.
he never replies
even though he is a writer
of very short prose
it would not be that hard to
email me, text me, write me, phone me
send a postcard of Fenway Field,
i know he loves that place.
our backdoors once opened onto the
same stairwell.
one year he gave me an address book
with a woodblock print on the front.
i still have it
it still has his address in it.
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