Blackout

I took an inventory of things I said
and I know I went too far.
Sometimes you can't come back
with another sorry, like the boy who cried wolf
when there was no wolf, and when there was
no one listened, like now, like this sorry.
Interminable silence settled into an easy read.
I didn't need a psychic to tell me
it would all go dark, a shut-down of the few
word replies I'd get when it was still light.
I used all angles but my monologues grew
trite and unnecessary, even to myself.
My words lost their flavor.
I tried too hard to form them into something
mouth-watering and easily digestible
but I realized no matter the offering, no matter
how many or how few words I used
he would never, ever be hungry for them.