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(132k .au)
No Messages
Two telephones side by side
on the corner of the street
no booths
just two phones on a pole
(the anti-mugger kind)
exposed and open to the night.
The traffic light is green,
and I wait to cross.
One of the telephones is being dialed,
the caller connects and
asks to leave a message
urgent
wants to meet and talk
to sort things out
it's so very urgent.
The traffic light turns red,
the caller disconnects,
crosses the street and is gone.
I linger on the curb,
as a second caller arrives,
dials the other telephone and
asks about an
urgent message
and urgently asks again
for any message
and asks once more
in urgency if there were really
no messages at all.
The traffic light turns green.
The traffic light turns red.
The traffic light turns green.
And I stand on the curb,
Remembering, from earlier in the day:
| the glove in the subway |
| | | | | | | |
dropped |
| the bag of groceries | | |
| | | | | | | |
| forgotten |
| the foreign tourist | | | |
| | | | | | | |
| misguided |
| the wrong address | | | |
| | | | | | | |
undeciphered |
| the angry panhandler | | |
| | | | | | | |
demanding |
| the street evangelist | | |
| | | | | | | |
| pleading |
| the tired commuter | | | |
| | | | | | | |
| stranded |
| the station clerk | | | |
| | | | | | | |
| | | surrounded |
The magazine cover with the photograph of an African child,
poised but too weak to walk away from hunger.
The photographer who could not take her.
The television plea by the American mother who begs
to know only where to search.
"if only"...
The undelivered letter from the Friar to Romeo.
I know the end to that story:
It's a compelling argument for intervention.
I turn toward the telephones to intervene,
but the caller is gone.
The traffic light has turned red.
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