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
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