by John Grey
Nobody knows me here.
No friends.
I’m totally alone.
Then you call.
My voice is trembling.
Haven’t spoken to
anyone in days
and even then
it was a wrong number.
The woman asked for Mavis.
I was terrified
from not being the woman
she was looking for.
What does a guy say
when he has nothing to say?
You sound strong
and I feel weak.
You make a point.
It feels like a decimal
pressing hard
against my brow.
You’re also looking
for Mavis.
It’s a Mavis world
and she’s not even in it.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Penumbra, Poetry Salzburg Review, and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Leaves On Pages and Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Lana Turner and International Poetry Review.
Hawaii Pacific Review 