Catch Some Wide Eye

Call of Duty

the phone drops gently from my finger tips.
thud. click.
the room swarms around me
shapes, colors, odors, sounds
along with a sinking in my abdomen
a rush in my veins
the news can’t be real

glass of water

can’t be real
because i still see his face
still hear his voice
i glance at the call log.
it was the same number.

a map on the wall
with foreign names of far-off towns
falls to shreds quickly in my hands

a glass of water

it can’t be real.

he’s dead.


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