He called again—
a random call
from the dark recesses
of the night.
The first call came at 1 a.m.
and he asked for pizza
I told him I didn’t have any
but if I did he could have it.
He called back at 3 a.m.
and we talked for an hour.
The next night he called
at 3
and I answered
I always answer—
the familiar lonely voice
among voices
over the phone.
He talks about nickels and dimes
and pounds
and I understand
I have walked in his shoes.
He says he isn’t stoned—
He is
He asks and
I answer “I’m not either”
We both wonder
who we are talking to.
He is intrigued
for some reason
as am I
as girls giggle in the background.
I am a adult
(supposedly)
and he growing to be a man.
I will talk
until he is satisfied
because what he needs
surpasses my needs.
Perhaps
this is what I need
what I have missed.
The interaction
of the next generation
who I so connect with.
and for this
I live year by year.
to reach them in some way.
for this
I live to teach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem