Ain't Them

The phone keeps ringing, but it's not that one person you're dying for it to be...

The phone rings and you hope

You jump up, bring it close

You fall down and you mope

It ain’t them

 

It’s a salesman, a granny

An old friend, a nanny

Call-centre or mammy

But not them

 

You know you’re a fool

Wishful thinker; not cool

Yet you sit on a stool

And cry; it’s not them.

 

The phone rings once again

And you’re fooled once again

And you cry once again

It ain’t them

 

Why hope, you think; why?

There’s no point, I’ll just cry

And fall down again, why?

It won’t be them

 

What do you want from them; what?

An apology or not?

I want you back?

Whatever; it ain’t them.

 

And yes the tears roll

As you beg and you plead

With an un-answering void

To bring them back; please!

Or not… Maybe not

Whatever. Don’t matter.

It ain’t them.

The End

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