Email Poem

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Personal Note:
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Poem
(conclusion to previous "poem" here)

One afternoon, our home phone rang and I began, as usual,
a heartfelt chat with Sheila. My memory is dim.
What we talked of I can’t quite recall. I only know one thing:
I was being steered by my best friend, 
steered toward spilling secrets of my soul.
Danny was the topic and somehow Margo’s name arose.
Maybe I spoke ill of her; I just don’t know. Best friends tell all.
So I suppose I mentioned she was not the one for Danny,
which led to other things.  . . Another voice then  came on the phone!!
Margo, on another line, was listening to my every word.
I felt the blood inside my usually cool veins start running hot.
I slammed the phone down, shaking at my core.
Perhaps I screamed. Mother stood, aghast, and I suppose
I told her of the trick they’d played on me as out the door I ran
down the block, quite unafraid, to face my traitor friend.

To this day I can’t recall a thing I did or said at Sheila’s house.
It’s possible that Margo fled and wasn’t even there.
But what remains with me, almost vivid, 
is what happened when I got back home.
Mom was in the kitchen when I walked in.
She wore a grin. And how well I remember this:
My ever faithful mom raised her hands, clapping them together,
applauding me as I walked in the door.


(for those interested: an epilogue: Interestingly, Margo got her way and snagged the guy. I 
recall the steamed up windows of Danny's car parked in front of our jr. high, where he 
picked Margo up each day. They got married and pregnant, didn't finish school. Danny even 
robbed the service station where he worked. I guess times were so hard for them. I think he 
and Margo both later joined the army (divorced by then I believe). As far as I know he is 
now remarried with many other children. Sheila, true to her family's ways, also got married 
before high school. I would babysit her firstborn for her sometimes after school. She 
divorced and eventually remarried a very nice guy, a Pentacostal like herself. They moved 
back to her beloved Alabama. I send her a card every Christmas though she never has 
given one to me. I think she gets my cards, however, since they don't come back, and 
strangely, about every ten years, out of the blue, she gives me a call. We are in our 50's 
now. It's about time for another phone call, and I am wondering if one day the calls will stop.)
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