“The time I knew I had it good,
the good too soon,
a prisioner of fate,
the kind that creeps up at times
drops all sorts of unexpected gifts in your life,
the kind I never thought about since
the good had me so preoccupied
as if to stop me with more than enough…”
– Jeff Cannon, Worcester MA, 2017.

The telephone game teaches a lesson
teaches to question second-hand
conversation, stations on the television
tells me a new formulary may cause
heartburn, but dancing won’t hurt, what a gift.
Telephone rings and CVS can’t fill
that prescription, telephone pings at
2 a.m., and I am
Velma fumbling for glasses
while my mind races
through every name I dread
to wake up without
nobody has died, this time
telephone lied to my anxiety, so I lie wide
awake until
the good of a quiet morning
creeps up on me,
a prisoner of misfiring neurons
writing premature eulogies
between coffee stains and bagle crumbs
straining to understand who the
hell is calling in 2025
without a text first? The good
of a quiet couple hours
is never enough.