Holding
Dec 4 2008


The woman’s voice is caring
warm,
grateful for my patience.
She seems almost ashamed,
apologizing
for the unexpected volume
of calls.
I’m about to respectfully suggest
they hire more operators, instead,
when the music interrupts.
Don’t get me wrong
I’m glad she wants to share;
but like our many recent exchanges
she still seems to favour
songs about reindeer and little drummer boys,
reinforcing my doubts
about this relationship
I’m afraid
is already getting frayed.

But she sounds so warm
so attentive to my fate,
letting me know
in a confidential tone
I’d better hold, or lose my place.
A typical woman, I joke —
fashionably late,
makes a gentleman wait,
keeps us all
on our toes.
Both of us holding, holding on . . .
on hold.

I picture her smiling face
looking great
in a girl-next-door kind of way —
wholesome,
yet sexy.
When a dial tone abruptly ends
my reverie;
kicking myself
I never asked for her number.