I Call

The only think I can do is hope that she's at home.
I'm not there to sit and talk at that black white and confused
granite table,
or ride around in any car going anywhere with a zip code that starts
with a number less than seven.
I'm covering lots of ground just thinking of what she could be doing
where she could be, how she's doing

And Then I Call

I call because if I don't my mind will get away from me,
I'll cometo welcome a type of unfiltered worry that starts out terribly
but then ends in utter satisfaction in not caring at all
I'll know what happened and of COURSE it happened that way
because you
haven't changed
at all

And now I'm disappointed and it will be weeks before
I can bring myself to call again-
several hundred hours before I pick up
dial your number and say:
"hey kid, how's it going? have you moved back in with your parents yet?
No? Well, what are you going to do?"