Sometime Next Week

The call came through, a flat dull tone,

my heart sank like a heavy stone.

'Results,' they said, 'we'll know, you see,

sometime next week, don't bother me.'

The click that followed, stark and deep,

a secret that the wires keep.

My ear still warm against the shell,

a story that it wouldn't tell.

The phone just sat, a plastic ghost,

on counters where it ruled the most.

And now I wait, a slow decay,

for words that steal my peace away.