The Pay Phones

At the farthest point
In the shabby recesses of the lounge
Against a cold gray wall
Two pay phones hang

Patients sit nearby
Waiting for the ring
The ring that means contact
Contact with the outside world

Though they try not to flinch, they do,
Each time the phone rings.
Though some fear the phone will not ring,
They want it to.
Though some want the phone to ring,
They pray it doesn’t.

Of conversations I have stolen
Some uplift.
Some depress.
Some traumatize the patient
They walk away, slowly, silently, and sit down.

Some shake while others cry
Fuck the phone
Fuck those who call
Fuck those who don’t .

And then, after a time,
A brief moment to compose,
In ones, twos and threes,
Patients walk over to the stricken
And, with a pat on the shoulder, a smile, a kind word,
They begin to heal what the phone has harmed.

WHS 08/13/03
Poems from the Hospital