A Friend Gone Bad

For months, she’s been r-i-n-g-i-n-g,

Hounding me morning, noon and late at night,

And leaving a message if I don’t answer her call.

Lately, she hauls me from my sleep at quarter to three.

In the beginning, when I answered, “Hello. Hello?? Hello!!!”

I heard only echoing nothingness, a round black void of sound.

But eventually, she started leaving me odd cryptic demands,

Weird and hollow, delivered in a slow, menacing drone.

They’re always the same, in code, I’ve no doubt.

And, today?  Today she brazenly spoke to me,

So sure she is safe in her anonymity.

Her cold and mechanical voice commands:

“Three. Three. Please hang up and try your call again.”

Her voice isn’t human. It's tinny and canned.

I’m sure my phone is stalking me.  

Don’t you just hate it when a trusted friend turns on you?

The poem that follows is by one of my favorite poets, Louis Jenkins, posted here with the gracious permission of the poet.  If you haven’t had the pleasure, you can get a small taste of his prose poetry here.  But I warn you, it’ll leave you wanting more.

The Telephone

by Louis Jenkins

In the old days telephones were made of

rhinoceros tusk and were big and heavy enough

to be used to fight off an intruder. The telephone

had a special place in the front hallway, a shrine

built into the wall, a niche previously occupied

by the blessed virgin, and when the phone

rang it was serious business. "Hello." "One if

by land and two if by sea." "What?" "Unto you

a child is born." "What?" "What did he say?"

"Something about the Chalmers' barn." The

voice was carried by a single strand of bare wire

running from coast to coast, wrapped around a

Coke bottle stuck on a tree branch, dipping low

over the swamp, it was the party line, all your

neighbors in a row, out one ear and in another.

"We have a bad connection, I'm having trouble

understanding you."                     

Nowadays telephones are made of recycled

plastic bags and have multiplied to the point

where they have become a major nuisance.

The point might ring at you from anywhere, the

car, the bathroom, under the couch cushions...

Everyone hates the telephone. No one uses the

telephone anymore so telephones, out of habit

or boredom or loneliness perhaps, call one

another. "Please leave a message at the tone."

"I'm sorry, this is a courtesy call. We'll call back at

a more convenient time. There is no message."