Mackenzie Keys

Metallic Blue Was Never My Color

The neon luminescence of the digital clock,

Manufactured to permanently display

The satellite time of my despicable

Fixed position, discourages my confidence.

Each button press clearly shows

I have not received a call or text.

By sliding a finger down a smooth plastic edge,

I hope to make it vibrate. Instead,

I discover the chip in the spine

From dropping it as I got out

Of your beat-up truck.

Through my mind’s eye,

I see us exploring on the geometric sidewalks

Of that small college town, laughing

As we observe exotic games the natives play

That we found so amusing.

I feel the solidness of your hand

As I dragged you through the maze

Of dorms and dared you to follow me

Into the shadows of the trees

For some games of our own.

And I feel all the cold of the denials

You suffocated me with.

Stroking the phone unearths a memory of nights

We clasped each other so close

To allow for caress, which you performed

With the trace of tender circles on my back

And the reverberating waves you trailed along my uncovered arm.

The excitement faded as I fell asleep

Safe, with my face on your fleece pillow chest.

The fragments in my vision haunt my waking

And unconscious dreams. My silent

Cell taunts my eyes.

Now I see in slow motion as I fling

The phone across the room

Until it collides with the stationary wall,

Then shatters into thousands of shards

That linger in the air to play

With the moonlight, forming

Bizarre pictures in reflection.

Better yet, I yearn

To catapult my rigid form

Into the stoutest surface

So that I may break, and play

And twirl to create a pretty image,

Then fall to the floor where perhaps

I’ll end up whole again. But

the phone in its entirety

lays motionless in my palm. I loathe it

and myself more for not having

the will to destroy either of us

should you decide to call.