The Call

You called me up the other day, but I have no idea why.
You are running around a track while I reach for the sky.
We do not belong together; we both know this is true.
But still you just had to call me, and I spent an hour talking to you.
What did we even talk about? Our lives are not the same.
I only can remember “What did you do this summer?” and “The Scarlett Letter is lame.”
I bet you’ve grown a beard by now; summer is the perfect time not to shave.
Meanwhile I’m outside tossing flags, dancing into a Texas heat wave.
But, you know what? I’m actually glad you called.
And, of course, assuming we both weren’t appalled,
I’ll call you back on Tuesday.





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