message tapes play greetings,
surprise us with voices we haven’t heard in years;
they remind us of our own vulnerability,
our dependence on staying connected
as life crowds out those things once important–
we wax ourselves with agony and
choose to be forgetful, and
indelibly unappreciative.

message tapes declare our stupidity and
lack of quick-wit; by the skin of our teeth
they remind us to do things that will
prevent us from experiencing
the unfortunate, the blasé,
all are beguiling embarrassments
hidden in fine print;
with our own permission,
they rehash our normal day to week to decade existence,
reminding us of the way we were,
how we wish we could be again–



© 2004 by cynth'ya lewis reed