Waiting [2]

There are people to live for and people to die            for I comfort myself: there are people to sleep with and people to wake with            there are fifty thousand years of waiting between one ping            and the next ping            I am waiter worshipper of pings            I text myself to test the mechanism keep the phone on my body            at all times keep my body in the condo where electricity is and also the internet            I cannot shower with the phone on a towel at arms reach cannot            sleep without            the phone beneath my pillow on a gut string hooked through my cheek            the pings yanking me from my watery dreams            outside if I must be outside away from the electrical sockets I—but I            never go outside there is no order to the waiting he pings I salivate instantly            the joy in my bark is so sore is so severe it is almost rage            I say hello this rationing is waterboarding please I need more air            he says I breathe into your lungs hello            I say am I not enough or are you            not enough?            he says my heart isn't a jar isn't a swimming pool the more love I have the more love I have            I comfort myself: she might know his morning smell but she            doesn't know her own fleecing            she might know his morning smell but I know her name and mine.