all the empty driveways of the past
My name is shouted from different directions. Until I hear nothing but the wind. Time and distance have finished retracting everyone I used to know. I retreat to the last telephone booth on Earth. All the phone numbers in my hand are incorrect or long out of service.
Back in my room I play 45's and watch the window go dark. I drink beer and wait for it to spin me like a 45. I read poems I wrote years ago--it's like returning to your old neighborhood and realizing everyone you once knew has moved away.