I thought about
calling you up
and reading the lyrics
of R.E.M.’s “At My Most Beautiful”
into your machine.
But we don’t use machines anymore.
It’s just a bunch of ones and zeroes
that show up
as a little red number
on your screen.
And I don’t know
that you’d get it anyway.
You see,
the song starts
I read bad poetry
into your machine…
But it’s not bad poetry.
It’s beautiful,
and it’s haunting,
and it haunts me,
and it lodges itself into my brain
and my soul
sometimes for days on end.
Or I will randomly
find myself singing
I’ve found a way to make you
I’ve found a way…
over and over
and over again.
And then I have to look up
and check that my microphone
is actually muted
and I’m not really singing that out loud
to everyone in this meeting.
Or maybe I was
and they just didn’t say anything.
Let’s face it.
It’s probably not the worst thing
that I have done today.
And maybe the best thing
that I could do
would be if I could
actually
find a way
a way to make you smile.