David Athey

Mister Body and Miss Communication

Her half of the walkie-talkies
had the new battery,
and she was giving a weather report
from the woods, the woods
behind his house.

"It isn't raining," she said, her voice
crisp as lightning.
"But it is getting dark... I love it
out here."

"Where are you?" he asked, flat
on the bed, "give me directions."
He had pressed the right button
but he had the wrong battery.

"I can't hear you, you've faded,"
she said, "so you better stay there.
You'll only get lost out here."

He rolled to the other side
of the bed, and
pressed his lips to the walkie-talky:
"Please," he said, "come back, come back,
come... "

Copyright 1996, David Athey

David Athey's work has recently appeared in The Cape Rock, Exquisite Corpse,
The Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review, Painted Bride Quarterly,
and other