Top of the World by John Grey

was there for the sax solo
but not the ringing phone

a wrinkled brow dripped sweat
but a telemarketer didn’t get a word in

talk about sensory overload
but not, thank God,
timeshares or telephone plans
or replacement windows

jazz angels were in the ascendency
and none asked me whether
the head of the household was at home

I just sat there
drowning in satiny roller-coaster sound

no survey taker
tossed me a lifebuoy

©2017 John Grey


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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Tau, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Examined Life Journal and Midwest Quarterly.


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