Ghosting
Long ago, in her cramped office, a therapist, Polly,
asked me if I was afraid to be happy
and I laughed. Afraid? No, sweet
lady, I’m not
scared of joy. In fact,
I try to find it where I can:
under halogen parking lot lights,
in salty sweet snack food that is bad for me,
in people who are bad for me. That’s why
I ignore your texts, because you are
too nice, too far away from home,
to be bad
for me. Maybe
if you were high-cal and hateful,
I’d be there?
2 thoughts on "Ghosting"
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It’s funny how we are attracted to what’s bad for us. Love how you frame the poem with the interior dialogue with the “sweet lady.”
This conversation works well as good poetry!