Canis Minor
Comes the phonecall
in the dead of night
that can mean only limited things –
wrong number, prank
another country
or death.
The phone it rings.
Death don’t wipe no muddy shoes.
Kicks in the door
spits on the floor
shoves to the front of the queue.
Someday the call will come
to break you harder
than any other.
And who will make the call?
This call wasn’t caught in time
as I tumbled from bed
with a headful of fog.
But when the news came later,
recalling the call, I knew
it must have been the dog.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.