MORSE CODE, by Carla Botha

——— • • • ———

I leave you
dits and dahs.
A brief sequence but you do not respond
like I do not respond to Mondays.
I try and decode my days for the sake of dealing
with time and dispensing of you. I am authorized
to dispense of things. I haven’t decided
the category you fall under — office hours,
overtime. The week is short.
I am working, planning to buy
a home for myself and my chickens.
The budget predicts I need to rid myself
of dots and dashes, I decipher
dreams. Everything seems like reality
except you — not included,
an untranslatable character.
The duration of a dash —
three times the duration
of a dot •
I memorize this distress signal —
three dashes
three dots
three dashes.
But I won’t send it.
I hear Morse code
is seldom used nowadays.