six word line poem

when I call up my mother
she tells me not to worry
but I still do, always do
I hang up the phone, seething
I make some instant black coffee
sit outside in our screened-in porch
realizing an affinity for square-edged objects
things that come in box shapes
like books and packs of cigarettes
things that occupy a definitive space
and I think of my mother
at home in her living room
trying to keep things so simple
condensing all events down to facts
for the comfort of definitive structures

- joyce, on my porch