The Reality of Fantasy:  A Phone Sex Poem

The Call

 by Kim Addonizio

A man opens a magazine,
women with no clothes,
their eyes blacked out.
He dials a number,
hums a commercial
under his breath. A voice
tells him he can do
anything he wants to her.
He imagines standing her
against a wall, her saying
Oh baby you feel so good.
It’s late. The woman
on the phone yawns,
trails the cord to the hall
to look in on her daughter.
She’s curled with one
leg off the couch.
The woman shoulders the receiver,
tucks a sheet and whispers
Yes, do it, yes.
She drifts to the kitchen,
opens another Diet Pepsi, wonders
how long it will take him and where
she can find a cheap winter coat.
Remembering the bills,
she flips off the light.
He’s still saying Soon,
turning his wheelchair right,
left, right. A tube runs down
his pants leg. Sometimes
he thinks he feels something,
stops talking to concentrate
on movement down there.
Hello, the woman says.
You still on?
She rubs a hand over her eyes.
Blue shadow comes off on her fingers.
Over the faint high hiss
of the open line
she hears the wheels knock
from table to wall.
What’s that, she says.
Nothing, he tells her,
and they both
listen to it.

***

So don’t ever tell me that what I do doesn’t matter.  Because it does — and it’s the lucky PSO who knows this and honors it.

Lucky for us, Ms. Addonizio has a lovely and bountiful website.

Thanks to my sweetie, PQS, for sending this my way.  You know I adore you, don’t you?

xo, Angela

(if you’re wondering why I’m not taking calls, I’ve been quite ill with a respiratory infection … trying to get better and missing you much)