"Telephone Conversation"
The price seemed reasonable, location
Indifferent. The
landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. “Madam,” I warned,
5 “I hate a wasted
journey—I am African.”
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick
coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was,
foully.
10 “HOW DARK?” . . . I had not misheard . . . “ARE YOU LIGHT
OR VERY DARK?” Button B. Button A. Stench
Of rancid
breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red
double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
15 By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed
dumbfoundment to beg simplification.
Considerate she was,
varying the emphasis—
“ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?” Revelation came.
“You
mean—like plain or milk chocolate?”
20 Her assent was clinical,
crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wavelength
adjusted,
I chose. “West African sepia”—and as an
afterthought,
“Down in my passport.” Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
25 Hard
on the mouthpiece. “WHAT’S THAT?” conceding,
“DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.”
“Like brunette.”
“THAT’S DARK, ISN’T IT?” “Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but madam, you should see
The rest of
me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
30 Are a peroxide blonde.
Friction, caused—
Foolishly, madam—by sitting down, has turned
My bottom raven black—One moment madam!”—sensing
Her
receiver rearing on the thunderclap
About my ears—“Madam,” I
pleaded, “wouldn’t you rather
35 See for yourself?”
Indifferent. The
landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. “Madam,” I warned,
5 “I hate a wasted
journey—I am African.”
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick
coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was,
foully.
10 “HOW DARK?” . . . I had not misheard . . . “ARE YOU LIGHT
OR VERY DARK?” Button B. Button A. Stench
Of rancid
breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red
double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
15 By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed
dumbfoundment to beg simplification.
Considerate she was,
varying the emphasis—
“ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?” Revelation came.
“You
mean—like plain or milk chocolate?”
20 Her assent was clinical,
crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wavelength
adjusted,
I chose. “West African sepia”—and as an
afterthought,
“Down in my passport.” Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
25 Hard
on the mouthpiece. “WHAT’S THAT?” conceding,
“DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.”
“Like brunette.”
“THAT’S DARK, ISN’T IT?” “Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but madam, you should see
The rest of
me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
30 Are a peroxide blonde.
Friction, caused—
Foolishly, madam—by sitting down, has turned
My bottom raven black—One moment madam!”—sensing
Her
receiver rearing on the thunderclap
About my ears—“Madam,” I
pleaded, “wouldn’t you rather
35 See for yourself?”