I wait for your call.
The unwatched kettle boils
itself dry
bottom burnt black.
The hands of the clock
pass the hours to each other
so incredibly slow l y.
Your call awaits me.
The phone rings.
And...an excited woman's voice
tells me of the exciting things she'll do to me
when I get home to bed
...if my name were only: Fred.
Embarassed(both)
the wrong number hangs up.
I await your call.
The phone looks
startled
almost jumps off
the hook
as some stupid jerk
tries to sell me something
I don't want.
I tell him
to go forth
& multiply or
words to that effect.
Waiting upon your call
I go & pee
watching the phone all the way from the bathroom
when suddenly it rings...I...wet my knee.
Damn! It's someone I
don't know who wants to know
if Mary Jane still lives there
'Oh no...where did she go? '
(I don't care...don't know!)
'And when did she go...? '
(I don't know...I don't care!)
'Please...please...just go
away! '
For God's sake!
I slam the phone down
(almost crying) .
I wish aloud
'Please...no more calls! '
And get my wish.
No one calls
all the rest of the night
...rest of the week.
No one.
Not even you.
I listen to
our row
caught by mistake
on tape
as the tape
played itself out
whilst recording something else.
On tape I hear
you cry.
I cry now.
Hear your voice.
Imagine your face.
Waiting for the call
...that never comes.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-never-comes/
