learning to play

there is news from the absent one
who’s battling with a phone box
to say hello
with three dollars in the slot
that won’t go down

when the telephone’s persuaded
it’s like a gap of years
of ages
sweeps away
and she’s there again
a voice at distance
not a fantasy or the lost memory
of someone I loved
who’s gone

it’s only been a little while
but the place so usually warm
is aching cold

another day has gone
she’s doing things
I’m doing things

nothing special
just an hour here
a moment there

cooked some food
washed up

she’s been attending classes
learning how to blow a penny whistle
in celtic form

bought a snare drum
and bongo stand
the new keyboard that we talked about

and coming home
in a few days more
to play

the way we like to play
in the small ways we know
together


© Frank Prem, 2009

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