Notes on a Sales Lead
May 17
He wrote me an email
Requesting some revisions.
I wrote him back, saying
that would be fine, and
asking for his
phone number.
May 24
He had not
written or called,
so I called Phyllis.
She gave me his
number. He was not in,
so I left him
a message.
May 28
Phyllis has an Irish
accent. She tells me
it is to him I must talk.
I hear green hills in her voice.
I am parched in this
desert of waiting.
June 4
Still no word.
I think of my proposal,
set loose on this
drowned world like
Noah's dove. I expect
no olive branch.
June 20
I am closing this entry
and marking it dead.
Phyllis does not return my calls.
My dove has returned
to my breast and lodges
there cold as a stone.
I understand now her
feeling, flying alone over
the watery expanses of
the Hebrew desert: cold feet,
tired wings, no place
to land.
Poem Notes
| Previous Poem
| Next Poem | Poem Index
|