Why I Can’t Call

I wouldn’t know what to say anymore,
Making a rather tentative phone call,
Worried that you would hang up angrily
The moment I say “Hi, it’s Paul,
Can you talk? Or are you busy?”
And I can’t call back later for fear
That I might not even manage seven words
In any way coherent or clear.
And what could be worse than that,
A phone call that consists of shallow breathing
Because it’s been so long since we spoke
And it feels like maybe I’m weaning
Off the one friendship that picked up
A hundred foul moods a year without fail,
Which I suppose could be annoying.
So, I’m sending this poem in the mail, maybe,
In some attempt to hide behind considered words
That might carry with them some value
Beyond what I could say about the future,
Or a damaged past, or how I presently miss you.

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About Paul Carroll

Paul Carroll is a writer, born, raised and still living in Dublin. By day he's a student and bookseller, by night he writes fiction and uses social media.
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