Blue Devils

I called you on the telephone
and while the phone rang
I imagined
you out walking
at night.  Your feet
in cream colored Converse,
crunch the gravel
at the side of the road.
There’s a ditch to your left.
Traffic passes intermittently
to the right.
I watch the headlights approach
through your eyes.
Night traffic
has its own sounds.

You walk by
Slurpee cups and their
dirty red straws, a Budweiser
bottle, a black sock
and about a billion
cigarette butts.

At home
your phone is ringing.
Your cat glances up.
You won’t answer.

Neither will
he.