On Hold

I write messages and wait to see
if they're seen. Sometimes I find 

amusing cat videos, like the one 
where a calico and a ragdoll walk 

through a hallway lined 3-, then 4-, 
then 5-deep with paper towel 

cardboard cores; an unseen hand
orchestrates the obstacle course.

They knock them down, and just 
keep going. If there were a caption, 

it would be You got nothin' on me. 
I wish I had their aplomb if not their

equanimity—but in the absence of any
response, I droop and distend in a holding 

cage of sadness, wear the carpet down 
in a waiting room for the host to let me in.

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