i pick up the phone two rings in. i mouth the word "FreezePhone" to her and she sighs in mock resignation (aw shucks) and i say it's fine i was full anyway and i lower the handset to my half-plate of chicken adobo and smirk "it's for you!" i don't need to say it and she doesn't need to laugh but it happens anyway and the food is already frosted over, hers too. while i'm stowing it all away (reynolds wrap) she answers WalkPhone.
i don't want to take a walk and she doesn't either but sometimes it's good to leave WantPhone on hold and keep HabitPhone on the line. WalkPhone didn't even do a particularly good job; the night is heavy and humid and the streetlamps are winking with gnats. a pack of motorcyclists answer LoudPhone as they cruise past and they whoop and holler at the engines' rumbling through the horn. one of them halts in the middle of a yellow light to guard it as it turns and his companions go through. she tsks and i squeeze her shoulder.
we answer FrontDoorPhone and AirConditionerPhone and CouchPhone and the apartment is as fresh as Eden (almost unfamiliar) and we didn't want to take a walk but it put us in a good mood anyway. above TVPhone is our grand old poster of the RCA Victor dog peering into his cornucopia and i'm not paying attention to the movie. when i'm with her and i'm pleased it puts me in the mind of things that feel eternal. we'd be the same a two hundred years ago answering DinnerMail and CandleMail and BibleMail (rain outside).
after i've answered ShowerPhone i smell that she's answered ScentPhone. she didn't need it and i didn't need it but we make love anyway and we don't need a phone for that (yet).
and later i have the dream again. i'm looking in a tall mirror and the man in the mirror is eating breakfast with his girlfriend and they're taking pictures. their shutters click and bites vanish from their plates. he clicks the window shutter open and the bus is waiting and click and click and i'm in the mirror and i'm at work with him.
his boss (my boss) takes my picture and i don't know what it means because it's locked inside MeetingCamera. he tells me there's fewer and fewer photo labs so he'll have to send away the film. it could take weeks. i wonder what my girlfriend could be shooting at home. i wonder how long anything takes. i want to ask my boss something but i can't advance the film. i've used it up. i'm suffocating.
i wake up and she's answering SnorePhone. i answer Toiletphone. i answer Snackphone. the birds are answering ChirpPhone in the sunrise. it's monday morning and my nightmare's faded into ridiculousness. my heart is answering CalmPhone and i'm dreading work, dreading my commute, but i'm prepared to meet it (aw shucks) and with a warm sigh i hang up on HomePhone.
April 24, 2025. Written for National Poetry Writing Month. Edited July 20, 2025
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