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GLORY-HOLE HYSTERIA

Submitted by on May 21, 2014 – 5:35 am 2 Comments

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GLORY-HOLE HYSTERIA
by D George Gawlik

there is this woman
who phones me from
time to time

she used to be a good friend
a good woman as well
but now she is no
longer all together
there

stupified by a broken marriage
was offered many exits
and chose not a one
was left
staggering numb under a yoke
of her own design

she will call me at odd hours
wailing
that she had lost my number
then found it again
and she is so glad
so glad
to hear from me again
& that is most
that is all
of what she has to say

phoning from Death Valley
phoning from the Mariana Trench
phoning from a black hole orbiting Mars

months go by
and I think I am
finally free
from her madness
but tonight
of course
tonight she calls:

hello?

JIMMY KNOWS WHAT A GLORY-HOLE IS!

well, good for him, I say
he’ll never want for anything

WHAT? JIMMY IS MY TWELVE-YEAR OLD SON!

Oh, I forgot, I say
I must have been drinking during that part
of your A&E Biography

WELL JIMMY MY TWELVE-YEAR OLD SON
KNOWS WHAT A GLORY-HOLE IS!!

okay okay, I say
Jimmy your twelve-year old boy
he knows what a glory-hole is
you know what a glory-hole is, right?

OF COURSE I DO!!!

did you find out
when your son told you,
or have you known since
you were twelve
as well?

YOU ROTTEN SON OF A BITCH!!!

 

the dial tone
sings its beautiful aria
and I hang it up

forgive me
I am only cruel
to those who decide to
be cruel
to me

the briars of their voice
jumping across my spine
like lightning every time

at least this time
nothing is lost
except
hopefully
my phone number
once again

2 Comments »

  • Randall Nicholas says:

    Cruelly amusing; a reminder that empathy can go only so far. I particularly like “phoning from Death Valley…the Mariana Trench…a black hole orbiting Mars,” the fourth and the second to last stanzas.

    • Halifax says:

      Herein this drain on his psyche is a midnight caller babbling about the Monticello Spillway…visiting the john she saw his number again and called. Her urge toward a vowel movement once more brought him a voice shaped into the service end of a vacuous time sink…he ought to change his number because at this point not to signals implicit acquiescence.

      Putah Creek indeed.

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