THE SILENT CALL

The silent call is never silent;
it rings persistantly
to get her out of bed,
continues to ring
until she answers it.

The caller makes no sound,
and ends the call
within the time
it takes for her
to lift the phone,
but a budgerigar
and rattling cage
she always clearly hears
at the other end
before the click,

and when she's replaced the handset,
she tries to go back to sleep but can't,
can't get out of her mind
the budgerigar
inside the rattling cage,
with useless, flapping wings,
trapped and terrified,
unable to escape the caller's gaze.

Tom McColl

This poem is taken from the collection The Beast in the Bag. For purchasing details, see the small ads page.