Saturday, August 16, 2014

Waiting For the Phone To Ring







I’m no Petra von Kant, now,
dancing down the street to the tune
of The Pretenders, still, but still, I don’t
call myself worried or worrying or dead,

Yet, still, I bound down the street
as a way to meet you, or at least
to get a look at you, and I see you

and it’s not all that, but still.

Any part of us can meet somewhere
neat, somewhere where we can
somehow be good for each other, right?
somewhere we can meet each other right.

And now, back at home, I study the
sturdy home I’ve now made for myself
and sit there, watching the TV, drinking
a beer, and

                    definitely not waiting for the phone to ring.