e.e. cummings calls the poetry crisis line

counselor: poetry crisis line, what is your emergency?

caller: the boys i mean are not refined

counselor: how is this your problem?

caller: they go with girls who buck and bite

counselor: and you disapprove? or were you bitten?

caller: they do not give a fuck for luck

counselor: personally, i’d be more concerned about blood-borne pathogens

caller: they hump them thirteen times a night

counselor: do they use protection?

caller: one hangs a hat upon her tit

counselor: not sure what that would protect her from.

caller: one carves a cross in her behind

counselor: that might protect her from vampires.

caller: they do not give a shit for wit

counselor: i’m not sure that’s relevant. why are we whispering?

caller: the boys i mean are not refined

counselor: are you afraid they might do something if they hear you?

caller: they come with girls who bite and buck

counselor: were you bitten? you never answered that.

caller: who cannot read and cannot write

counselor: wait–are they deliberately keeping them in a feral state?

caller: who

counselor: the girls who bite and buck and

caller: laugh

counselor: that sounds a little better. does the laughter sound joyous, or nervous, or–

caller: like they will fall apart

counselor: emotionally?

caller: and masturbate with dynamite

counselor: oh.

caller: the boys i mean

counselor: wait, the boys are the ones using dynamite to…uh…how is that even possible? i mean, unless they are…uh…

caller: are not refined

counselor: that’s putting it mildly.

caller: they cannot chat of that and this

counselor: to be honest, i’m having a hard time talking about this, too.

caller: they do not give a fart

counselor: i’d be afraid to pass gas, too, if i had explosives up my–

caller: for art

counselor: not for art or love or money.

caller: they kill like you would take a piss.

counselor: never mind “like”; they could kill *where* i take a–

caller: they speak whatever’s on their mind

counselor: who? the boys? the girls? the dynamite?

caller: they do whatever’s in their pants

counselor: apparently.

caller: the boys i mean are not refined

counselor: so you keep saying. but this sounds a bit more serious than using the wrong fork for the salad course.

caller: they shake the mountains when they dance.

counselor: what? all that, and you were just calling in a noise complaint?