A Phone Fantasy*

O phone fantasy woman,
You speak on the phone to me,
O phone fantasy woman,
You sound so alone!
And when I pick up the phone,
I don’t know what to say.

You tell me your name’s Denise,
You’re into sex therapy,
But no, O my fantasy woman,
This isn’t what’s wrong with me.

My heart every day is breaking
To hear a woman like you,
To hear your trembling and shaking,
Not knowing a man who’s true.

My God!  I will scream,
Is it only a dream?
It’s a kiss that I miss,
It’s the night that I fight—
A lonely night of the souls like you.

You say you are thirty-three,
And I’m just twenty-five,
You say you like talking to me—
It’s making you feel alive.

And I don’t know what to say.
And I don’t know what to say.

O the miracle of a telephone,
O the tragedy of being alone—
Sad, naked, confused,
Hungry for love and abused.

Lousy bastards!  I’ll scream,
Woman, this isn’t a dream—
Look at me, I’m human,
Talking to an older woman.

Touch me, I’m bizarre,
I don’t have a bloody car,
I don’t have a thing to my name,
And a name—what’s in a name?

I want to break down these walls,
To kiss you, to touch your soul,
I don’t want to masturbate
and hear you say I’m great.

O how often I cry
And sometimes I want to die—
Away from this bloody mess,
Away from the ghosts in dress.

O my soul, O my bleeding heart,
O this telephone that keeps us apart,
O the night with your darkest fears,
It’s a phone call filled with tears,
It’s your voice that I always hear:
Hi out there! You don’t have to be human!
For I’m only your fantasy woman!

                                             February 19, 1988
                                        --Alexander Shaumyan

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*NOTE:  This poem was actually inspired by strange circumstances in my life.  I once received a phone call from a woman in the local area, who worked for a phone sex company somewhere in New York City.  She asked me if I wanted to “get off” with her over the phone, and that the phone call was already paid for by someone.  I said that I didn’t enjoy talking dirty over the phone and decided to read her some of my poetry instead.  My poetry made her laugh and since then she would call me from time to time and just talk to me about her life and her crazy relationships.  I always wanted to meet her in person since I enjoyed talking to her.  Strangely enough she even got to see what I looked like since my poetry was beginning to get noticed and a picture of me was published in the local newspaper.  It was the craziest thing.  I actually had some intense conversations with someone who worked for a phone sex company.  So much for the stereotypes!