angry phone

he bites the air in the room, chewing it,
spitting out sharp words.
the mirth is gone from his voice and I know I am at the end of it,
his patience.
I give the whine of a guilty puppy
and curl up around my hand.
but I know I am wrong
and no amount of pity can be wrung from the receiver.
it is cold and hard,
small and plastic and full of diodes
and numbers that don't answer.