It’s good to talk but
not to both of you.
Not at the same time.
Not now that you’ve made the decision
to go it alone.

There’s something stilted;
shoehorned into
something too small
about my invidious position
with you both on the phone.

And I am utterly unable
to do more
than politely mouth
insincerities about your decision
to go your separate ways.

It’s only duty
that drives me to punch
your number
violently and involuntarily,
into the face of my phone.