“please leave a message”

for Charlie Arvin

If you heard slurs, pauses,

apologies for calling at supper,

for calling at all,

you might think you overheard

the inchoate sounds of a drunk.

You couldn’t know how he choked

on son and suicide,

how it hurt his gut to talk.

If you stood in the rain at the end of their road

you would see a large man, heartsick,

on the porch holding his phone,

and you might have the belief it did him good

to call an old friend, though no one was home.

If so, you know nothing of sadness,

leaving a message his penance,

grief leaving him deaf to consolation.