i-can't-remember-the-name-poem

the
cell rings loud
from inside my bag.
it sounds off like a warning,
cautioning against heartache ahead.
i am addicted to him,
so i choose better,
and let it
ring.


light
boom, crackle;
it is a show of
light dancing above the heads
of amazed onlookers who wait for
the next fire flower to
have its moment of
glory and
fame


a
b, c, d,
sweetly sings the boy.
his voice is soft, innocent,
pure. not yet infilterated with
the harsh slang that comes with age.
but soon the song is
sung no more.
z.