Peter Machine by Peter Gibbon


We spend 30 months abroad.
Same job, same home, same phone
needing no one privately. We move back
to Canada & I become a separate cell.

Jobs, walking distance from our filthy apartment.
We text between breaks. Ten minutes
between messages mean she’s busy
or this morning we didn’t kiss
or forgot we did.

On Good Friday I take her photo in a tree
post it online without realizing
the religious implications.
On Easter Monday I send her
the angel emoji.


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