of missing on fridays

on mondays, you complain.
on wednesdays, you gossip.
on fridays, you eat.

but what about
when i see your eyes,
shining through the toaster oven?

is it a good time to tell you
"you are missed",
when i just burnt my bagel
in that same
translucent toaster?

"do you want toast?"
"mom, make it look like it did
last easter."
when it was light and yellow,
the butter tossing its hair
down flights of steps
where the split ends
reached my split toenails.

i guess i could reach you,
if i really tried.
pick up the phone,
spotlight your locks.

instead i'll munch
on two dark brown circles,
wishing i was really eating,
and not just missing.

what are you?

if you don't call me when i'm away,
                                                             what are you?
if you don't know what i've done this whole year,
                                                                     what are you?
if i have to tell a story that happened at the beginning of freshman year,
                                                                              what are you?
because you're not my friend.
friends fill each other in on what's happening,
when, why, who, and how.
maybe i'm a friendship idealist,
but i don't want to be meticulously placed into your schedule,
i want priority dibs.

why have i lived 18 years
yet haven't found but one person at a time
who puts in the time to trust me,
let me trust them,
talk to me,
let me talk to them,
love me,
let me love them,
and then walks away without a glance back?

we're not old yet,
we're supposed to be wrecking shit.
throwing rocks at windows
and building treehouses.

but this is real life, and not a fairy tale.
and like that guy told me several years ago,
i should get my head out of a book.