Terry Jaensch: Calling Home

Time is the longest distance between two places
    Tennessee Williams

Declarations of love and his voice growing fainter,
      he asks why I'm so eager to end the conversation.
I've one ear on traffic, the other on the receiver
      both anticipating a break in the flow of things.

My feet teeter on the curb, the metal cord connecting
      us fully extended, rod-like, our talk has become punitive.
I'm about to run or not, set something other than my
      body in motion or not, though I'm pressed to reason

any desire in stasis. I've not the stance for answers
      today, I draw breath and from the action, need
but say nothing of it. A security guard motions
      at me from the concrete rim of a flower bed,

his message, visible but silent, cannot be got at this
      distance: the flowers also arrive, poor travellers,
more or less certainly - thirsting. Caught between
      the mall and the street two Tamil tailors, who later

attempt a garment from my necessary indifference
      to them, lock hands. This is love or not - thumbing
the buttons, gesturing - and it will call again before
      it leaves; while there's still money on the card.