Looking Good and Feeling Fine (Christopher)

Occasionally the house phone rings;
Grand guffaws of black bakelite
(the room reverberates, the windows rattle
as in an earth tremor or the formation of a new star)
And I wonder if it could be you,
Since you're the only person who has the number.
I answer as I always do,
"A.B.'s pension for the weary-and-worn,
Available with good nightly rates,
Only if you're looking good and feeling fine
And if you're going to talk to me about how
The buildings look like holograms in the thin 7:00am air
And dance like the Eiffel Tower on ecstasy."

But it isn't you,
It's a woman with a wrong number
Or a telephonic salesperson sitting,
With a headset, far away.
"This is Marwa with you, good sir.
This is Egypt with you, good sir.
Christopher is far away,
He's looking at the blue sea from an emerald coloured headland
And there is magic not mystery, fairy wells not feluccas."
It's high summer here and there aren't any holograms,
The sky is so solid and blue you couldn't pierce it with a knife.
There is nobody walking naked down the hall,
Looking good and feeling fine.

July 2014