Dark Poetry Prose Poetry March 20, 2006 Dark Poetic Prose

3-20-06 monday 10 AM

He called me once on a Sunday morning. His wife was out. He was watching the kids. He gave me his phone number and I wrote it down.

I think I called him once when he said I could and then I must've thrown it away. Because I didn't trust myself. Because I wanted to protect him.

He spoke sweetly to his son. In a soft voice with a touch of child in it.

I threw a tennis ball up and down with my right hand and held the phone with my left. Because I can only listen on my left side. Only speak from my right.

I threw the ball. Trying to get it as close as I could to the ceiling without actually touching it. An exercise in self-control and concentration.

It was easy to catch with my right hand. Since that's how I've always caught everything. But it was hard to throw it that way.

But I had no other choice.

Since I can only listen on my left side.