Voice mail can deliver poetry, if one listens closely. Sometimes one needn’t even listen so closely because the message is delivered at more than sufficient decibels. This, transcribed verbatim from a recent message. Unfortunately, I cannot credit the source. They didn’t leave their name and phone number.
Verbatim Poetry: A Phone Message in Two Voices
[Sound of short expulsion of air from the throat.]
THE WOMAN: Wants to leave—
THE WOMAN: —the—
[Another expulsion of air. Greater conviction;
perhaps warm spittle.]
THE WOMAN: Leave your name and telephone number.
THE MAN: That’s what I did.
THE WOMAN: Well, do it again.
THE MAN: There’s nothing there.
THE WOMAN: That’s the dumbest—
[Expulsion of air mixed with whatever patience was left in reserve.]
THE WOMAN: Because they’re closed already.
THE MAN: 4:11 and they’re closed?
THE WOMAN: Yeah. Whadja—
THE WOMAN: Whadja do, hang up?
THE MAN: I hit Speaker.
THE WOMAN: Why?
THE MAN: So I could hear if someone came back on.
Photo by judy_and_ed, Creative Commons license via Flickr.