The Call Poem by Francie Lynch
The Call
It's 2 a.m.
The phone rings.
It rings differently,
You lift it gingerly,
Afraid to say, Hello.
Hello, this is Sgt. B.D. Gnus.
May I speak with
Mr. or Ms. Mel/Ann Colley.
A minute later,
All you hear is the dial tone,
And a thud
In you head,
And a rattle
In your chest.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/25/2024 9:28:33 AM # 1.0.0.1119
That's what late call does; it causes fear!