Immunity – Jack Charter
I’m on hold.
There’s music coming down the line:
by Vivaldi. I know he’s Italian but
the strings, the violins
make me think of England
I’m waiting to speak to the place
which passes out
I phoned yesterday;
they played the same song.
But it’s winter now.
After ten minutes
I take the receiver from my ear
and lay it on the freezer.
Am I –
at the edge
on this cold, foggy evening
at the end of twenty twelve?
And this ‘something’ –
did I really think
I was immune to it?
Contact him at jackcharter @ gmail . com (with no spaces)
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