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Random Odds and Ends and the thoughts of yours truely, Shade
Local Call
Local Call


By Carolyn Beard Whitlow



You handle me like I'm a local call.
I'm expensive. Long distance although
having never been loved I don't know how



to tell you so. So I answer the phone,
anticipate its diamond ring and let
you handle me like I'm a local call,



your line old as an old simile, stale
as a dead metaphor, you who's always had,
having. Never been loved, I don't know how



not to wish you would not stop stop not
loving me, the sidewalk running past me,
you handle me like I'm a local, call,



laugh in another language, hung phone screaming,
me unsure whether my anger volcano or match
I don't know, having never been loved, how



to love, my mind stalled with graffiti,
imagination sore, hum "Don’t want nobody
don’t want me," accept your local call,
having never been loved, knowing I don’t know how.





 
 
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