Paddington Writers

The Call

1:45 am;
a phone rings from a house somewhere in the street;
a bright insistent chirp.

I peek outside
but nothing stirs,

no clue to place it;

everything grave still.

Just rows of impenetrable black windows

soliciting taciturn suburban mysteries.

The ring continues its plea
like an frantic electric bird,
echoing down the street
bouncing off the walls.

Who is it?
She’s stopped breathing?

What do they want?
His heart has flooded?

Is this the type of call that ignores
ungodly hours and convention,
to announce in flat estuary

another disconnection?

Burdened bloated clouds
unload a mesmerising volume of droplets
in a steady deluge;
creating capillary waves as they impact
dirty pools full of fallen brethren.
Others shatter onto unyielding surfaces,
or glide down glass to combine and form vertical estuaries.

This rain perfectly echoes my laden thoughts,
as they reluctantly descend from gloomy recesses in my mind
to filter and manifest through the imagery
and silent language of thought.

I’m reminded how weather acts as a mirror to the human heart,
but is too often used as lazy metaphor for differing states of mind.

I especially love rainfall though,
as it discourages most men from walking around in
unsightly shorts and sandals,
placing natural prohibitions on our outdoor ambitions
and what we can pursue when we’re outside.
Rain is romantic too,
providing lovers opportunity to
explore affection in detail
under improvised shelter.

” Curiously,…… the phone rang at 11.30pm.
It was my sister calling from Canada.
” Why so late ?”  I asked.
” Do you remember when Ralph climbed the tree and walked out to the end of the branch, way up high ?
And we could hear him crying ?” she said.

“Y-e-s…. why do you ask ?”
“Well…. it was me who went into the house to get the blanket, so if he fell, we could all hold onto it like a fireman’s sheet and the cat would be saved….”
“Yes….but he fell before you got back.”
“I know, but that’s why I’m calling. It wasn’t my fault that he was injured, and everyone blamed me.”
” We didn’t blame you.”
” Yes you did. You were all screaming at me.”
” I don’t remember that. I only remember that after he fell, Ralph ran into the barn and didn’t come out for three days. How do you know he was hurt ?”
” Well, he must have been because it was a long way down. And you all heard the loud thump.”

“Why are you calling so late ?”
” Well, it’s just that I wanted to know when you’re coming back to visit.”
“No. You wanted to talk about Ralph falling out of the tree. Why don’t you just ask me
when I’m coming .?