I told her I was sorry, I apologized for the ants. All the friggin ants.
The sleeping bag that night I tossed over the ant-pile.
A light, she said I should have had a light.
I guess I wasn’t thinking, least of which ants?
A light would have been good I supposed.
And I apologized, admitted I was wrong
getting so lit, all the vineyards and all.
And that porcelain piece at the last gallery.
Yes, I told her, I should have let you drive.
You were right.
And I am telling her these things. Looking at my role
through this crummy red phone. And she is on, what seems the real far side of a piece of plexi-glass, or whatever but pretty thick.
And she is not happy.
I am sympathetic with regards to the whole Bondsman ordeal, I tell her. I appreciate your patience in the matter, I say.
The red phone is heavy
She is no longer up to this task, Clive, she says.
I understand, I say. Awkward, I say.
I may have to sit here a while, she says. While she thinks about things, she tells me.


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