answerphone tape #8675 309

. . . I tell you babe, I can’t hear
that drah-drah, drah-drah
ringing at your place
without seeing your phone
slimline grey on the blue bench,
the old wall-clock behind it,
appointment cards tucked in –
dentist, hairdresser,
the kid’s swimming presentation –
car rego under the dinosaur magnet
on the fridge, shimmering in the corner,
your red coffee mug, rinsed
upside-down on the drainer, near
a yellow dishcloth wrung out
over the hot tap,
some spilled cat kibble
throwing shadows on the baseboard;
everything suspended in amber sunlight
holding its breath while the phone
goes drah-drah, drah-drah
like a migratory bird alert
as if the whole golden afternoon
waited for this
and nothing more.

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