The Imposter’s Mouth

I had to call the landlord about the slow drain

and played back the message, which was a mistake—a pain

I didn't need. Who is that person, that shrill,

unsteady ghost who sounds like she's ill?

'Available'—the word just flattened and died,

a thin, tinny sound that suggests that I lied

about being an adult. I sound like a hinge

that needs to be oiled, or a late-night binge

of bad decisions. I heard myself laugh

on a video clip—a desperate, jagged half-

shriek that made me want to go back in time

and apologize for committing the crime of being heard.