Poems for Analysis

Poems for Analysis - Wrong Number by Wisawa Szymborska At...

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Wrong Number by Wisława Szymborska At midnight, in an empty, hushed art gallery a tactless telephone spews forth a stream of rings; a human sleeping now would jump up instantly, but only sleepless prophets and untiring kings reside here, where the moonlight makes them pale; they hold their breath, their eyes fixed on some nail or crack; only the young pawnbroker’s bride seems taken by that odd, ringing contraption, but even she won’t lay her fan aside, she too just hangs there, caught in mid-nonaction. Above it all, in scarlet robes or nude, they view nocturnal fuss as simply rude. Here’s more black humor worthy of the name then if some grand duke leaned out from his frame and vented his frustration with a vulgar curse.
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Poems for Analysis - Wrong Number by Wisawa Szymborska At...

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