by Steve De France

From a distant place my hand finds the phone’s receiver--
“Yes,” I whisper---“what the hell time is it?”
“I don’t know, he says…late…very late”
“3:00 AM?”—I hear my voice rising as I look at the clock.
“It’s 3:00 AM!”
Rain is pattering softly outside.
“ She left again.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“Have you been shot?”
“No”
“Stabbed?”
“No”
I hang up.
The phone rings again.
I slide the receiver over to my ear.
We both listen to the rain.
“I just can’t take it anymore,” he said.
“It?” I said. “It’s 3:00 in the morning”

“IT!” he replies,
the ordinary horrors of the day.
Mostly people don’t talk about the
ordinary horrors of the day.
Jim was drunk again.

“So? Why did she leave this time?”
“I don’t know. She started coming home
later and later. Last week she just stopped
coming home.”“What do you think?” I ask.
“I’m lost without her.”
“What are you feeding her?”
“Just regular. She hates that anti furball stuff.
“Try putting out some wet food near the door.”
Jim has been this way about his cat
since his wife Patsy died last year.
“You OK?”
“Yeah,” he says, “I am good.
I’ll try that.” He hangs up.

Wide awake now---I listen to the rain.

 

 

Steve De France is a widely published poet, playwright and essayist both in America and in Great Britain. His work has appeared in literary publications in America, England, Canada, France, Ireland, Wales, Scotland, India, Australia, and New Zealand. Most recently his poem "Gregor's Wings" has been nominated for The Best of The Net by Poetic Diversity.

 

artwork by Jenny Ostraff. Turning Around to Face You. Intaglio print. 2007.