If I could tell you anything I would
tell you about

the funny oatmeal I ate in Mexico
two years ago.

And about how a whole
new universe—people, place, ideas—
exploded my world when I started my
job the summer after that, and I would

tell you I really did hear of that band
before you, I swear I did, I never
would’ve lied to you ever.

And I would ask you what’s changed in
your life and if you still talk to the same
people, because I don’t still talk to the same
people, and where are you going to

be, later, stretched across the continent like telephone
wire? I don’t know how to get your attention
in case I have to say all this to your
face some day, which I’ve been meaning
to; will my paper cups and strings

transmit across states and miles?
Or have you been meaning to, also
If you could say anything who would
you tell and what would you say?
Would you tell me stories about oatmeal?