She smelled like ozone
and old commercials—
the kind with jingles
you didn’t know you remembered
until your mouth sang along.
Plop, plop, fizz, fizz,
oh what a weird thing she is.
She stepped from the screen
once the static gave out,
a figure shaped
from tone bars and
missing episodes
and sort of resembled
Barbara Stanwyck.
Maybe she used to be
a transmission and
maybe she still is.
When she moved,
I...
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