An Open Letter to Smokey Robinson

Dear Smokey: “And maybe you’ll go away and never call/And a taste of honey is worse than none at all,” poured out of the battered transistor AM radio as two mascara teared fifteen year olds keep a constant vigil at the silent phone. Whatever heartfelt teenage tragedy I was lamenting over, Somkey, you always made me feel worse; which at fifteen was better, because you can really get off on feeling sorry for yourself, syrupy love poems and True Confessions.