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hit delete

by nessa o'mahony

First from the database,
a cursor swipe backwards,
laying blank to syllables
I couldn't pronounce anyway.
Next to the inbox,
your messages a right click away
from obliteration.

I pause, thinking how years ago
I might have gathered them up,
damp from maiden's tears,
and wrapped them, beribboned
into a box destined for dust
and the top shelf.

No, I prefer erasure,
the steely composure
of thumb and index,
as I make my mouse
roar

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