Alice dials herself three years previously
and recommends not sleeping with the yeti.
When her past self asks who's calling,
she replies: 'A friend,' then adds,
'who can see three years into the future,'
before hanging up.
She wonders whether she has done enough.
She has heard the old canards about
everything happening for a reason
and learning from your mistakes,
but she is proud of her regrets.
Only a sociopath would not change anything,
deliberately walking into low beams,
eating the bad prawns.
And then:
the room begins to fold away
like a magicians stall,
her fingers dissolving,
the lights on her phone thudding out.
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