The asterisk calls. It leaves a message:

It says, You stood me up. You don’t return
my calls or texts. You didn’t go to work
yesterday. I wanted to ask whom you met
for lunch. What did you eat, and where
did you go afterwards? I waited at the bar
till 1 a.m. then took a walk and fell asleep
on a bench at the end of the pier. I woke
quite stiff, feeling crumpled at the edges.
No one bothered me, not even the seagulls
raucous for their breakfast. From above,
I must have looked like an ink-colored speck,
mere footnote amid the city’s detritus.

My fingers hover above the keypad as I listen
to the prompt: To erase, press *7.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Asterisk.

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