Dial Tone

testing tempo...

The phone was

The poison of

The afternoon—

 

As the sun swept over the grass,

Like searchlights of a UFO landing

 

As she cowered in her bed

 

The phone was

The poison of

The afternoon,

 

And she did not want to touch its

Demon soul

Black black

Plastic skeleton

 

And she did not want to hear

The beep

Of its mocking dial,

 

Wanted no one

To be home

To answer its ring—

Her ring—

 

(Oh, God,

Her ring!

And his…

Would be beneath the ground)

 

The phone was

The poison of

The afternoon

 

And she did not want to call

To share the news,

 

Did not want to have to

Speak-and-share her Blues.

 

As the sun swept over the grass,

Like searchlights of a UFO landing

 

As she cowered in her bed,

Hugging a memory of the dead,

 

The phone was

The poison of

The afternoon.