Wishful Voice

I find you

within newspaper inserts

and old mixtapes.

Both were hidden

beneath my car seats.

Wish you hadn’t become fossilized

in bleached out paper

and cracked plastic,

but I no longer remember

the sound of your voice.

I hear you in wind whistles

and swear that was your voice.

Wish we could take long drives

and play music from 80s has-beens

and billboard faves for hours.

I twist the radio knobs

and swear the disc jockey laugh

is you, and I listen to talk radio

waiting for your intro.

Wish I had your voicemail message,

so I could hit replay 

over and over again

and find you still in the room.