Poetry: Do Not Call 510.344.7037 By Jonathan Hayes

Do Not Call

510.344.7037

 

My wife and I were having pizza in North Beach, 
getting some dinner before we sat through an event at City Lights Bookstore
 

While reaching for another slice, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall, lanky man 
walking by outside the restaurant, and when he got to the corner of the street, he lifted
his hand which held a bookmark-sized piece of blue paper and stuck it on the street sign pole
with a small yellow sticker

I went back to the pizza and conversation with my wife, but made a mental note to check it out

We finished our dinner, paid the bill, and headed to the event to get our seats

While walking away from the restaurant down Green Street toward Columbus Avenue 

I had forgotten to check to see what the man had placed on the street sign pole

On Columbus, before we entered City Lights, I saw another bookmark-sized piece of blue paper stuck on a street sign pole with a small yellow sticker, so I grabbed it as we entered the bookstore

Once in our seats, I glanced over the slip of blue paper:

At the top, it had a R. Crumb-like drawing of a character who resembled the man I saw placing 

them around North Beach — the character held a landline phone to his ear and had an expression of horrific shock throughout his face, and under that it said, 

DO NOT CALL

510.344.7037

and then a small block of text under that which stated, “For the love of all humanity do not call. No matter who tries to convince you.” And something about the “Illuminants” who are creatures hidden deep under the crust of the earth “…crying and shrieking in a tone unheard by us.”

I gave more thought and attention to the slip of blue paper than the author event

 

When I got home, after a couple beers, I called:

“Do you know why you called; we know why; congratulations for your courage.”

Press 1 To leave a voicemail begging for forgiveness or face an eternity watching TikToks 

Press 2 If you’ve retrieved our notice from a street sign pole and don’t know what to do with it

Press 3 To play a creepy choose-your-own-adventure phone game 

Press 4 To scream directly into the phone and then hang up

Press 5 If you’d like to speak with an Illuminant

Press 6 To learn about the Illuminants

Press 7 To join the Illuminants

Press 8 To experience something different

I paused, waited for a moment, stared at my phone, and then the voice said,

“Goodbye”

 

 

 

 

 

Jonathan Hayes lives in Oakland, California with his wife and their cat.

 

 

 

 

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