My Dear Mr Resetti

It has been so long I know,

and perhaps I stayed away

from embarrassment or shame

or, yes, maybe even the fear of you.

The town I suppose is over-run

with weeds by now, the villagers

too lazy to pluck them in my

absence. Cockroaches have taken

over the ground floor and twitch

and feast on crumbs under my

froggy chair. The letter box

must be stuffed to the brim,

it’s a wonder Pete can find the 

space for more Happy Home reviews

and dear-johns from the neighbors

who’ve left for more well pruned plains.

I promise you it was not my intention,

not in the slightest, to leave in the manner

I did. The battery was so low and I thought

We could make it, save be damned. Even now,

with the charge at capacity, I cant return, I won’t.

I know you’re waiting for me, pickaxe raised,

rage intact. I can’t face those incensed whiskers,

not again. So this is where we part,

in an unsaved siege, 

in a pixel limbo.

Send my love to Sable,

Tell K.K. to stay cool,

buy Brewster a cup of joe on me.

Goodbye Mr Resetti,

You mental mole.

Jay Rafferty is a redhead, an uncle and an eejit. He is the Social Media Manager for Sage Cigarettes Magazine and a Best of the Net nominee. His poetry has previously featured in several journals including Capsule Stories, Lights on the Horizon, Broken Spine Arts and the Alcala Review. When not losing games of pool he, sometimes, writes stuff. You can follow him on Twitter @Atlas_Snow

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