House of Cards
Raud Kennedy
“Hello?” I answer.
Telephone silence.
“Hello?” Again but with false cheer.
Nothing.
I hang up.
Every few afternoons,
during the trysting hour,
the same call.
Ring, ring, but only quiet.
My wife and I joke
that it’s a ghost,
but I know better.
It’s someone who wants
to hear our voices.
A past indiscretion,
hers, maybe mine,
don’t know and don’t want to.
I’m worried. Instead of listening,
they’ll speak, and my wife and I
will look at each other
and never be the same.
