F.N. Wright


on the bed beside me
waiting for a ring
for me to pick it up
dial a number
any number
a friend
it doesn’t matter
to my phone
like me it misses
the sound of a human
especially a caring voice
or the sound of one
that once loved me
but no one calls
there is no one I can call
I have no lovers
my exes have forgotten
my number
I have no friends
the loneliness of my phone
hurts me deeply
fills me with guilt
loneliness is a sad thing
I pick up the phone
dial 411.

–archives, Deuce Coupe, June 12, 2010

3 Responses to “F.N. Wright”

  1. priscampbell Says:

    I love this poem!

  2. Peace, brother.

  3. Lisa Wright Brandenburg Says:

    Love this!

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