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The poetry of Kris Mercer

 

The Phone Call
 
The phone starts ringing, 
                     got to go.
                     Only been in the bath 
                     for an hour or so.
Pick up the receiver,
                     getting cold.
                     Sit and listen 
                     to what I am told.
They don't seem to bothered, 
                     I'm turning blue.
                     The towel keeps on slipping
                     it just will not do.
Look : Just listen here.
                     I've nothing to say.
                     I'll ring you tomorrow.
                     (Or some other day).

 

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