Phoning the Poetry Hot-line

Every poem I write,

every song is a threat

is what I say to you.

You ask me where

will the poem explode.

What does it look like?

Did I place it myself?

You ask me why.

You are taking notes.

You write long distance phone

booth connection. You write,

I hear a street, 

maybe a PA system or wild animals.

You write kitchen sounds, quite

possibly fried eggs

like a mother used to flip.

We have many children in the building,

you tell me, and I have a family at home.

You write the caller’s voice—

a hairy, nasal slur
like a wet fart.

You wonder if my voice is familiar,

who it sounds like.

Does it smell like

mustard gas and roses,
you wonder.

What is your name, you ask.
What is your address?

I put another jigger in my song.

I won't pull the trigger
till you're gone.

Hello, I say, I Johnny
Cash the bomb.