Jim Burns
Elegy
The phone would ring, 2am or even 3,
and the drunken voice begin its story.
General election night, and Labour
was sweeping ahead to victory.
“It’s a new dawn,” he would slur,
“and why aren’t you celebrating it?”
I’d listen, patiently, occasionally
trying to dampen his enthusiasm.
“For Christ’s sake,” I’d tell him,
“it’s 2am or even 3, I’m shattered,
and when you sober up you’ll realise
that nothing has really changed.”
And I’m waiting now, though I know
he’ll never call again, at 2am or even 3,
his voice silenced forever.
But I wish the phone would ring.
Page(s) 15
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