the booth

1

I denied you a “turn around” with a telecom nickel in the slot
destroying us through the greasy worn receiver ,
etching feelings that carved through the static speaker
I had a slashing thirty minutes with you and a queuing,
old b***h complaining about the cold and the verbal abuse

2

An inflammation of feeling stains the road, the fields and the river

“How could you “
“How could you “

Gruesome sad blues turn into a stretching, elastic feeling
of black, every f*****g city colour drowning morbidly into its swell
dark, stumbling, loitering for another empty booth

3

Detonating fear through hoarse ambulances, police and kids
looking through dirty curtains crying

“where are you now “
“Where are you now “

4

The nickel falls, hits the stainless steel belly flat
it makes a bad sound that says “Clank”

The phone never rings
it’s disconnected, it peeps...peeps

She is with him


5

(He is f*****g her)