That.... Never Comes! Poem by Dónall Dempsey

I wait for your call.

The unwatched kettle boils
itself dry
bottom burnt black.

The hands of the clock
pass the hours to each other
so incredibly slow l y.

Your call awaits me.

The phone rings.

And...an excited woman's voice
tells me of the exciting things she'll do to me
when I get home to bed

...if my name were only: Fred.

Embarassed(both)
the wrong number hangs up.

I await your call.

The phone looks
startled

almost jumps off
the hook

as some stupid jerk
tries to sell me something
I don't want.

I tell him
to go forth
& multiply or
words to that effect.

Waiting upon your call

I go & pee
watching the phone all the way from the bathroom
when suddenly it rings...I...wet my knee.

Damn! It's someone I
don't know who wants to know
if Mary Jane still lives there
'Oh no...where did she go? '
(I don't care...don't know!)
'And when did she go...? '
(I don't know...I don't care!)

'Please...please...just go
away! '

For God's sake!


I slam the phone down
(almost crying) .

I wish aloud
'Please...no more calls! '

And get my wish.

No one calls
all the rest of the night
...rest of the week.

No one.
Not even you.

I listen to
our row

caught by mistake
on tape

as the tape
played itself out

whilst recording something else.

On tape I hear
you cry.

I cry now.

Hear your voice.

Imagine your face.

Waiting for the call

...that never comes.