Voice Over

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Submitted: March 24, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 24, 2018




By Alexander Guinevere Kern



My husband's female friend at work

Has left on vacation leave,

And he misses, misses, misses the Miss.

Invoking her voice from his clever

Larynx, he issues forth

Imaginary conversations.

He alternates, imitating

Her crooning tremolo, her gasping giggle, then -

A shift of posture, his solicitous response --

Tenor chuckle. Suddenly I'm hearing

Something I don't care for much . . . 

That his words

Are hooked in the mouth of love, 

And there's caring twitching on the taut line.


I mention Norman Bates and his Psycho mother

But that doesn't hinder him a bit.

His co-worker 2,000 miles traveled

By now, Shalimar perfume, home-wrecker red

Nails tapping the marble of Rome.

Restaurant carpets jealously coveting

The forked imprint of her heels.

Mirrors reflecting her back to herself

Everywhere she tours, acknowledging:

"Yes, you're here! You're really here!"

But she is *not* there, not ALL of her.

My husband's mouth opens

And her voice struts out.


My ear sustains the hot stamp

Of her disembodied speech.

Hubby Houdini has conjured up

More than her memory for soothing.

It's the first time I feel

Threatened by his performance.

A suspicion clanks, heavy in chain-mail

As I hear the first stun of the challenger's trumpet

First glimpse over Destiny's crest -

A red warning rising, 

The rival's red banner

Snap snap snapping in the wind.

"I miss you, miss you, miss you," he chirps in sweet falsetto.

Then he sits in measured silence, before sliding

Into the sound of a deep-toned truth: Says

"I miss you, miss you, miss you," in his own voice.


~Copyright 1986

© Copyright 2018 RexMundi555'.-. All rights reserved.

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