Glass Poetry Press

Volume One Issue One

Lisa Fay Coutley

In e-Harmony

She'd walk sockless through the tended embers
of his aching just because he wants to

hold her shoes in his hands (he's the first man
to send her a smiley, an LOL!),

but grief simply isn't that well-prepared
for virtually. Something needs to be

said for spacious backseats without heated
undercarriages and automatic

locks, the risk of being caught buck naked,
ankles up, her stilettos on the feet

of a stranger who doesn't need fixing
before she has basked in his five o'clock

shadow. Still, she would forego intimate
evenings of heavy petting for him,

skipping straight ahead to the filthy grief,
but this is virtual intelligence

protected, fire-walled, spam-guarded, filtered,
and her inbox levels every request.