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Array
(
[sid] => 28071
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => a dirty phone booth in iowa
[time] => 2003-11-27 10:21:53
[hometext] => a mother's broken plea to her runaway daughter
[bodytext] => a dirty phone booth in iowa the receiver dangling inches above the snow covered pavement a small voice floats from the earpiece, lost in the night a desperate mother delivers a monolouge to an audience, already lost "ashley, baby, please come home please... he's gone now. i made him leave. baby, i'm so sorry, i had no idea... but, you can come home now and he'll never hurt you again never make you......'dirty', again" her soft sobs float in the bitter air for a moment before being swept off into the anonymous night "honey, you're only fourteen you're too young to be on your own you'll just end up selling your bod......" she stopped herself too late realizing what she was about to say crying harder at the irony "...doing terrible things to survive please, please come home... i'll protect you, sweetie i promise..." she continued on and on though her daughter long ago dropped the phone to catch her bus heading east so what if she ended up selling her body? at least she'd be getting paid this time ashley looked out of the window as the bus pulled away and as her past, her whole life, fell behind her a single tear rolled down her cheek like a snowflake sliding down the burning face of sorrow i picked up the receiver for a moment smiling sadly at the frantic desperation in the mother's sobs she had fallen into an unbroken loop of "baby, please come home"s by the time i hung up the phone and checked the return slot for change [comments] => 8 [counter] => 787 [topic] => 32 [informant] => Cancer [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SadPoetry )
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