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When I transfer calls to extensions
which don’t exist, the phone
at my station simply rings again.
I can’t politely lose calls unless
people choose to disconnect,
yet half those who do hang up
dial right back. They usually
conspire with me to blame technology
for abandoning them on hold.
Nightly, I dream new calls, scribbling
sleepy messages across pink pages
headed with “While You Were Out.”
The phone, like a phantom limb,
won’t quit ringing in my brain.
I hear it steadily and must pause
to decide which rings might be real.
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