A Phone Call Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The Phone Call

Phone rings I finally answer, it’s my daughter she wants to come home.
“Where are you ringing from? I ask she doesn’t know. Tell her I have no
home only phone that works in all weather, “I gave you all my money
and I sold my house so you could become a doctor.” But dear dad I’m
a dancer now in a country I don’t know the name of, only that people
talk funny and cry a lot when drunk.” Since we didn’t know where we
are, agree to meet in Tirana but, she doesn’t know when she’ll be there,
I don’t know when I’ll be going there. Dreams of becoming middle class
through my daughter has vanished. Where is Tirana? Anyone?