Crossed Lines
No one was home, the ringer rolled
He left a message at the tone.
To voice-mail—her voice, then a tone.
He couldn't remember if he'd been told
No one was home.
It didn't matter what he'd known,
Of course, or how, but he was cold
And for a week three weeks months now he'd been alone,
Which mattered less. No one could hold
Her to the promise he had thrown
Back in her face and called fool's gold.
No one was home.
5/2/04: That one line just keeps getting longer as the fellow spends more time alone. I tell myself it's so she has an opportunity to rearrange a world.
Later that same day: "Ringer rolled" wasn't clear without something to roll to. Now I get "voice" on the beat and off the beat in the same line, and I get in a dolorous pun. ¿Qué piensan ustedes?
7:34:43 PM 
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