|
the phone rings the
way it does whe
no one intends to
pick up
east colfax,
the phone booth
shuts out the cars
like water bleeding
from the faucet into the
white clawfoot tub
the phone rings
but no one picks up
breathe
standing in the phone booth
nervous to leave a message,
the cars run red lights
through
my silhouette,
blue jeans and
brown jacket and can they
see me can they see
her handprints on
the back of my shirt
can they see her lips on
my nipple, my neck,
straight down
my neck where
her fingernails ached into
my side
pornography
catholic
mother
her blue eyes
more important than
the eyedropper
of truth
breathe
the phone rings
laughing at the anxiety
of my pose
and the stale look
on my face,
covering up her
saliva under
my chin, tucked behind my
ears, between my lips
the phone rings
can they see the way
i smeared her hips onto
my body, pulling on
the bottom of her shirt
and writing her flesh
on my stomach
like a story
alone in the phone booth
three o'clock;
the bus creeps
up on the
side of the road
There is no answer
and no one
to tell.
| 
