I'm still enjoying this remarkably versatile poet (see previous post), author of The
Mystery of Max Schmitt: Poems on the Life and Work of Thomas Eakins (Turning Point Books, 2004). His
homepage is http://philipdacey.com.
Innisfree
Journal poems and comments about the poet.
Walt
Whitman's Answering Service
 |
| Poet Philip Dacey |
Who calls
here,
hankering,
gross, mystical, nude?
Did you
expect to find me at home?
Then you
do not know me.
I am
never at home.
I am
always on the road.
All roads
lead to the telephone;
wherever
you go, on or off
the road,
a telephone wire
sings
beside you.
I knew
you would call.
Everyone
does,
in his or
her own way.
All the
wrong numbers you dial
are meant
for me,
are the
attempts of your better self
to make
the call
you are
afraid to make.
If you
would have me know who you are,
leave no
name or number,
simply
give to this line
the mist
of your breath
and I
will recognize you.
I will
call you back
unless
you wait by the phone
for me to
call you back.
Be
confident, but be warned:
my voice
could be disguised
as
anything, anything.
If you
love me,
if you
truly wish to get through to me,
you will
hang up
at the
sound of the tone
and dial
your own number.
If the
line is busy
or no one
answers,
consider
yourself lucky,
you can
always call again.
If the
line is out of order,
remember,
you are the only repairman.
If the
line has been disconnected,
remember,
the only phone company
is
yourself.
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