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Sonnets From Other Lives: Lindsay

Fuck this—she says & clicks the train of x’s
that closes all the spreadsheets & Outlook
crap that she’s been slogging through. A text is
buzzing at her. She cries--I will brook
no more—shuts down, gets up, & draws a bath.
Next a heavy pour of cab-merlot,
before her inner raging psychopath
gets the upper hand. Step three: she goes
through her playlists. Chopin. Can she handle
a book? Sense & Sensibility--
if she can keep her eyes open. As candles
burn aromatherapeutically,
she sinks & sighs & would’ve been left alone
had she not neglected to silence her phone.