An eloquence there is in calls unanswered:
The handset surely rivets to my head;
As if you sense my call is about cancer
And hesitate to answer since I’m dead.

The reasons you don’t answer could be many:
You’ve died, or else your vital limbs are broken;
You can’t be screening calls, for that’s unfriendly,
And curses such as mine are best unspoken.

I’ll try just ten more times and hope you answer;
Then concentrate and make you want my call:
And so, enacting our imagined banter,
I’ll dial through spring and summer into fall.

I’m hanging up, and hope you truly burn
In hell — “Hello: Monsieur, your tax return?”

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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