Poetry by Jeff Green


All day long

by cricketjeff on April 29, 2008.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

The telephone just sits and looks at you
As you pretend your day is going well
You look around for other things to do
To keep your mind from sinking into hell

The postman walks straight past and doesn’t call
No letters crash to Earth upon the mat
Your email inbox hardly grows at all
And only then with pills to fight your fat

The sweetest sound that you have heard all day
You grab the phone and press it to your ear
Her loving voice will chase the blues away
And for a while the two of you sit near

Each hour you are apart the world grows cold
But every moment’s contact’s made from gold