the tide

Now I press a button to start 
the car that bullets through 
state lines, past barren towns,

or to turn on a mower that can 
sever the grass, hiccup speed 
(the commercial said), to

kill a thousand people
in a place I can’t pronounce,
to flip on a light or a blender,

or pay her for the night,
to call your mom to change 
the channel to heat up soup to

buy shoes or trips to Spain, to
find out which star is that one 
to take a picture of the water

that bends around the rocks just so,
so why is there not a button
to make you need me the way

I need you, the way tides 
need moons to move.

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