poetry by j matthew waters

three in the morning

I call my brother
he doesn’t pick up because
he doesn’t recognize the number

I say he should start drawing again
       suddenly there’s crackling
                  maybe some laughter
two or three or four of them
         speaking in tongues
telling me to shut the fuck up

I put the phone down
find myself moonwalking across
the newly polished laminate floor

out on the terrace deck
       I breathe in the outside air
                  all the voices
gradually fading away
         the koi in the pond below
beginning to jump for joy

november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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