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No one ever calls me.
I gave Antler my number,
But he never calls.
I've called him on several occasions
And he wrote explaining that he doesn't
Like to talk on the phone.
My sister calls home everyday.
Does she ever call to talk to me? No.
No one calls me.
Ian doesn't have my phone number,
But even if he did, he wouldn't call.
Neither would Jeff, who I called once,
But due to bad reception, I couldn't
Hear a word he was saying.
I have Kalisha's number,
But considering she just moved
To the Bronx, who's to say this is still her number?
I called Ben, but his number is no longer
In service. Brian prefers if I call before eleven.
I used to call Mike all the time, but he was always busy
And had no time to talk, so I stopped calling.
Matt is the only one I call these days,
But all I get is his answering machine.
I leave a message, yet he never returns my telephone calls.
Trebor, Kevin and Peter don't call.
Nick doesn't want to talk to me.
I know Daniel, Sean and Melanie screen their calls
When I call.
R.L., Todd, and Jonathan
Don't have my number, and why should I give it to them?
It's not like they would call.
Vytautas keeps asking for my number,
But he has no time to talk to me when he's
Writing a script for HBO.
Kirk doesn't call. Neither does Karen
Or Gerald. Jarret lives in Las Vegas.
You think he ever calls me? Hell no.
Joe won't call.
My grandma calls, but you think she calls
To ask me how I'm doing? Virgil doesn't call me.
Doug doesn't call and neither does David.
I might as well run out in front of a Mack truck
Being that these people never call me.
Rick, the manager at Film Forum,
Never did call to set me up for a job interview.
I get calls from the College Loan Corp,
And telemarketers trying to sell me
A newspaper subscription.
Barnes and Nobles called to let me know
That my book was in. Wasn't that nice of them?
But other than that, no one ever calls me.
Who gives a shit how I'm doing?
Who wants to burn up free weekend minutes
Talking to a nobody like me?
No one ever calls me. I might as well overdose
On a packet of backache pills, slit my wrists
In a bathtub of bathwater, ‘cuz no one's going to call.
I bet they would call then.
Bet the phone would ring off the hook.
Would be just my luck to get all these calls
From callers who never called before.
But what good would it do being that
I wouldn't be able to take their calls anyway?
That is if they would even call,
Which I don't think they would.
I'll be standing next to the royal-blue mailbox
For your cotton undees sealed in a manila envelope,
Postmarked and addressed to me exclusively.
I will be waiting patiently for your soiled skivvies
With the raw aroma of urine with streaks, my love
Of mocha, brown, a chocolate hew.
I will be waiting, baby for your tee shirts wet with sweat.
The armpits as yellow as the piss
That soaks in, dry and staining.
I'll be waiting for a fat package of tight, ripe underwear
And sweaty, wet tee shirts
Made out to me.
Shane Allison is the author of five chapbooks of poetry, I Want to Fuck a Redneck being his most recent from Scintillating Publications. He has had poems published in Suspect Thoughts, Velvet Mafia, Mississippi Review, Best Black Gay Erotica and others. He has work coming forth in Best Gay Erotica 2007.