Your phone rings.
An old lady crosses the street.
Your phone rings.
Her purse dangles.
Arms frail as a snowman's.
Your phone rings.
Our eyes touch.
We offer a moment of morning.
I can only think about you.
Your phone rings.
She touches my hand.
Says I remind her of —
She says I remind her of —
Your phone rings.
The purse smacks pavement.
Calcium collides to a hundred snaps.
We let our eyes reconnect.
Your phone rings.
She won't blink.
Your phone rings.
I want her to blink.
Pale irises frozen to November.
Your machine answers.
I tell you I love you.
I tell you for the first time.
Your machine fills with my voice.
Mr. Huskey writes poetry and fiction. His work has appeared in a few journals, including Keyhole Magazine, Thieves Jargon, Word Riot, and Zygote In My Coffee. Links to his work can be found at http://jasonlhuskey.wordpress.com/. He lives in Virginia.