Saturday, July 13, 2024

poem

 Wrong Number

I dialed the wrong number and right away I knew

It was the wrong number. A voice answered, but of course

It wasn’t my mother, it wasn’t her number.

But they thanked me for calling;

Grateful actually

The voice on the other end of the line

Said she was grateful that I had called,

Mistakenly, as it turns out, but nevertheless.

There were voices in the background 

And I could hear weeping and the TV turned up too loud

Someone shouted turn the television down, goddamit!

And I knew this was what everyone else 

Had to pretend to manage with feigned equanimity


I saw an old man on a bicycle

Riding with cartoonishly perfect posture

Albeit far behind his elderly wife

Woefully so

He was overweight and wearing a baseball cap

The sort of baseball cap you might see drawn 

In a dictionary published in the year 1957

Next to the word “baseball cap”

Nothing odd about his pedaling

Not like he was about to fall or crash

But, man


That was the moment when I first

Began to question my own sanity

Because if reality is just what’s happening 

Inside one collective consciousness

What happens when you

Go beyond a healthy skepticism

And begin to simply not accept it?

Well then, it’s the end of the road

Where else could you go?

You’re on your own, buddy,

In a place no other can know


7/13/24

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