Blog Archive

Sunday, April 6, 2008

Love in the age of call waiting.

A wife on the line
her number flashing
angrily while
Saturday's gurl is
painting her nails
on line four.

One kiss and line
ten is dead, a cleared
desk and gone is caller
nine. Lights on hold
illuminate a darkened office
and entwined figures.

Now eight lights blink
furiously like angry
wasps behind backdoor
screens. Soon the
room begins to darken as
line one takes center stage.

An insistent wife
and one nagging
red light seperate
man and mistress.
He takes the call as
she rights the lampstands.

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