Radio carries ghosts in certain songs. Screen-door, left open, is unhinged, slamming, fickle with the wind. Food on the table, left mid-meal, goes cold. One chair askew, one chair knocked over. Phone is cradled, mute. Radio chooses that moment for Daryl Hall singing “She’s Gone.” There are two piles of mail, only one of them grows, calling for her. Lights stay off, day and night. Internet is desperate to please, will show anything, anytime. Dishes beget
more dishes. Refrigerator speaks in beer and microwave. Bathroom is a sad mess. Bed is half-haunted and hasn’t been slept in for days. Radio bargains “Come Back and Stay" for good this time..." Magazines get trashed. Who wants to be reminded? Porn no longer does anything. Radio sings louder, radio howls. Batteries died days ago. Radio rages “Ooh ooh Baby, I Want You Back,” Radio weeps “Until You Come Back to Me,” Radio surrenders...
“Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone.”
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