the land line

it doesn't matter,
this no call list. they still
call.
deep voiced men
collecting for a police fund,
firefighters,
the hawkers of light bulbs
for the blind,
the pick ups
on Wednesday for the purple
heart,
Thursday for
the united way, Friday
for goodwill,
and the rest. the machine delay,
that three seconds
of silence
before
someone mispronounces your name
and asks you if you're
having a good day.
you curse your land line,
that kitchen phone on
the wall with the twenty
foot black cord,
hardly a real
soul calls that number
anymore,
but what if, what if.