Deleting Terry

feels strange and wrong,
no one answers there now.
But I hold my phone and press the button--
ten digits disappearing,
more like
the last drive of the hammer,
last shovel of dirt,
darkness entering the coffin.

I almost wish to keep him here,
little ember of a flame I never warmed up to,
landlord with a tepid, crooked smile,
the man who gave me keys,
fixed my sink and put new filters in.

Once while in his office
we talked about drinking wine
and the beauty of Arkansas,
how her north is so much prettier,
how the land rolls
in still waves of earth.
He gave me his number
and told me my neighbors were nice,
that Kyle likes to grill,
Jim across the way is a policeman,
and everyone gets along.