The girl upstairs
Was always on
The phone; Hank could
Hear her gabble
For hours on end
In that drawl she
Had like some cat
On a hot tin
Roof, and when she
Wasn’t yakking
She was having
Men there; all types;
All colours; big
And small, but one
Hank met once in
The hall was the
Size of an out
House door: tall and
Wide. He never
Spoke, just gazed hard
Robert Mitchum
Like, bringing his
Shoulders round as
He walked upstairs
To the phone girl.
Sometimes there’d be
Rows, sometimes loud
Laughter with jazz
Records blaring
And above it
All her loud voice
Singing along
In that awful
Drawl. The phone was
Silent. Why, Hank
Moaned, didn’t some
Guy call? But none
Did. Nobody
Ever phoned her.
Comments
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I'm pretty sure they do
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love your storytelling
great piece!
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Thank you, Catie.
I am wondering if women do spend more time on the phone than men; I do not know... Do you?
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