GoldenSunday

		       		Golden Sunday


The perils of mischief always outweigh the pleasures,
Is what a cop told me after I had prank-called the station,
I asked what perils? How could a phone call be perilous?
And he says, perilous?
I didn't say perilous, I said pointless-ness,
And pleasures? They had long since outdone the same.

By Monday the charges evaporated, the bruises all blue-to-tan,
A mist like steam rising off a hot bath.

By Tuesday I was calling from different lines each time.