She was doing the manager's voice—

She was doing the manager's voice—

the email that used "going forward"

four times in a paragraph.

I was laughing.

Then the siren started up

somewhere a few blocks away,

on her end or mine,

I couldn't tell.

We kept going.

She said going forward again

in the voice and I laughed

and the siren moved through the call

the way a truck moves through a conversation—

the brief swell, the pull, the fade.

She asked what I'd written back.

I said I'd replied all.

She said that's the right move.

I thought about it after I hung up.

Not long. A minute.

The ease of it—

both of us hearing it,

neither of us pausing,

as if pausing would have been

the thing that needed explaining.