The day you called I was lying on my bed in my room with the thin, inadequate pillow and the constricting belt wallpaper listening to King Crimson smoking a big, fat joint and drinking a lukewarm Budweiser I was distracted by an incessantly buzzing fly that kept landing on my forehead and I hadn’t the strength to brush it away because your news, it cut through it cut through the fog and the haze I’ll never forget where I was and what I was doing the day you called The day you called I was fast asleep with sweet and gentle Randi whose heart I was soon to break wrapped in my arms when the blaring of the telephone pulled me from my lethargy into the screaming now of sad, grey faces on the TV mouthing unimaginable words and showing fire and destruction on an endless, angry loop because your news, it cut through it cut through the nightmares and the dreams I’ll never forget where I was and what I was doing the day you called The day you called I was just a baby in my crib tired and hungry crying for my mother feeling powerless but innocent wishing I could speak my discomfort and my love so you could understand who I was and what I wanted but your news, it cut through it cut through eventually, with experience it cut through I’ll never forget where I was and what I was doing the day you called The day you called I was at a friend’s house for them to give me the news I was in the second-story apartment with the hippie roommate who smelled of stale sweat and cheese and had no notions of privacy I was in my mother’s kitchen trying to think of something to say that would make you forgive me I was in the house in Burbank where my lovely wife and Watson, our dog circled me with love and power They pressed in tight to help siphon off the pain because your news, it cut through it cut through Dear God it cut through I’ll never forget where I was and what I was doing the day you called Or maybe it was JFK or the dawn of 9/11 or the day John Lennon died I don’t know I’ll never forget where I was and what I was doing the day you called but I get all my tragedies confused
Max Mundan, The Day You Called
© David Rutter 2015
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