The Phone Man
The man on the phone
he stared at me today
his curly hair
like a cherry tree
He gazed at me
glass ball-eyed
he yelled and screamed
did not piss in his pants
Hand in pocket
he knows me
I try to pass
he stabs through me
The man on the phone
he hunts for me
I ran down the hall
pass a sign
he follows
the man on the phone
I ran past the crew
and the bed men too
I ran to the alley
and past the white ghosts
I have a glimpse
woman in the window
her bare breasts
sticking out
Her nipples hard
as can be
man on the phone
on my ass
I stare at the woman
the woman in the shadows
out from the window
she gives a yell
I climb the ladder
to the woman
her breasts bare
in front of my stare
She takes me inside
the phone man behind
I lay on the bed
as she straddles my waist
The window crashes open
the man who knew me
he runs into the room
as the woman grinds her hips
The phone man approaches
the woman atop
pulls a caliber
out from his jacket pocket
Points it behind her
In front of me
behind her bare breasts
her stiff nipples
in front of me
The phone man
he pulls the trigger
I bleed
Her nipples toss
In front of me
The phone man
he knew me
I lay there
as he calls 911
as his lover
falls to the ground
as I die
beneath dead bare breasts...
© 1997 David Greg Harth
97.11.20.22:17:57@NYC