The Telephone
“The black
telephone’s
off the hook”
—Sylvia Plath
“Daddy,” Ariel
“Don’t answer it!” he shouted—
The buffoon falling down the stairs
Did he think I was stupid or something?
Of course, it was Assia Wevill!!!
Disguising her voice as a man.
And she was more of man—
More than my grease-ball husband was.
Hiding what I already knew so well,
He was an oily, smoothie womanizer who
Couldn’t help himself at all.
Court Green & the countryside—
I thought I could get him away from
The obvious temptations of London’s
Femme fatale snake pit of starved
Hungry men & women who wanted him.
But they came after him—
Here too in the calm countryside next
To the graveyard and tall black yews.
My telephone became my conduit
To the Land of the Dead.
“The black
telephone’s
off the hook”
—Sylvia Plath
“Daddy,” Ariel
“Don’t answer it!” he shouted—
The buffoon falling down the stairs
Did he think I was stupid or something?
Of course, it was Assia Wevill!!!
Disguising her voice as a man.
And she was more of man—
More than my grease-ball husband was.
Hiding what I already knew so well,
He was an oily, smoothie womanizer who
Couldn’t help himself at all.
Court Green & the countryside—
I thought I could get him away from
The obvious temptations of London’s
Femme fatale snake pit of starved
Hungry men & women who wanted him.
But they came after him—
Here too in the calm countryside next
To the graveyard and tall black yews.
My telephone became my conduit
To the Land of the Dead.
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