Dial Tone

In the last week, only one person has called me.

My mother is concerned about where I could be

(then ends the call.) My text history is more diverse;

my father has also sent me messages. The worse

(not verse) is not to follow, for my isolation

is self-imposed. The silence lacks motivation

to be broken, so how is this any different from

a deserted island? But I need the thrum

of voices in the background, the implicit understanding

that I am not alone, that civilization (the branding,

the lights, the screens) is waiting for me

to join them. I want the trappings of society—

I want to be trapped. So I will take the cheap

way out, for I am the student who will keep

asking smart-aleck questions, who would leave

the deserted island rather than grieve

for what is left behind. The sattelites are

calling (artificial or not) but the mainland is far.

(Yet just a call away.) On my own island, alone,

in the ocean or in my room, I will keep my phone.