Timing

In what would be our last tender moment
I called in the sensual grogginess
of barely ended bad dream,
one infused with sweaty anxiety
and pathetic,
urgent need of you
at the wrong time.

I felt ugly, exposed
yet you didn’t scold or hang up.
Instead you listened sweetly, cooed at me,
rocked me in the lap of your long distance words.
Dream drifted to memory and
I slept soundly.

Three nights later you re-created my nightmare:

I ring your number at the time we said we’d talk,
but you don’t answer.
I pull at uneven threads
in the sweater of your next-day responses,
the knit unravels,
revealing your choice of
her, not me.

We have always said
you need to improve your timing:
jokes suffer when you tell them.
This time, I beg to differ.
This time, cruelly,
you got the timing perfect:

This time, sleep is no relief.

(cc) Karen G. Johnston